


Over the Sea to the Clouds Above

by MSeren



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, past Leliana/Female Warden - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:27:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 167,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25084624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MSeren/pseuds/MSeren
Summary: Niamh Cousland was but a child when her magic first manifested, and she was consequently spirited away to the Circle, far from the comforts of anything she ever knew. As an adult, she finds herself later liberated by her sister Saoirse—now a Grey Warden—who she follows through a war for the ages only to disappear in despair when her older sibling dies for the greater good.Many years later, Niamh finds herself at the cusp of change once again upon her arrival at The Conclave. There, she hopes to observe the reconciliation between the Templar Order and the now broken Circle of Magi. Instead, she is given a mysterious mark, followed by accusations of murder, and the cold reception of one Nightingale of the Imperial Court—Left Hand of the Divine, known lover to the late Hero of Ferelden, and unknown recipient of Niamh’s own unrequited feelings for the past decade.ORBecause she loved her sister dearly, Niamh set aside her own happiness, watching from afar as Leliana fell for another. However, with Corypheus threatening to cast ruin upon the world, is it possible for her to reveal the truth of her own heart before it’s too late?
Relationships: Female Cousland/Leliana (Dragon Age), Female Inquisitor/Leliana (Dragon Age), Leliana/Female Warden (Dragon Age)
Comments: 449
Kudos: 545





	1. A Past Painted in Grey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had this idea for months now, but it took me getting stuck indoors for much of the foreseeable future to really begin fleshing it out. That said, please forgive my rustiness!
> 
> Most of this is just dialogue to introduce you to Niamh. Leliana will be introduced in the next chapter, and then the slow burn will truly begin!
> 
> Quick notes: Niamh and Saoirse are both Irish names, so how they're spelled is never quite like how they actually sound. Lol. Anyway, Niamh is pronounced "Neev" and Saoirse is pronounced like "Sir-sha." 
> 
> Also, anything you see underlined are hyperlinks to additional content like pictures, songs, and other references to help you further understand/connect with the material. Enjoy!
> 
> EDIT FOR NEW READERS: Since this is quickly becoming a lengthy, on-going story, I have a [handy FAQ regarding Niamh](https://morganaseren.tumblr.com/post/636825693499637761) that includes what she looks and sounds like along with the choices her sister Saoirse made as The Warden!
> 
> [I'm also part of a Discord for Leliana romancers!](https://discord.com/invite/EjFYyJmVkV) :D The server isn't mine; it actually belongs to a fellow writer. It's still pretty chill there though, so if you ever want to say hi, feel free to join!

[Niamh](https://morganaseren.tumblr.com/post/190812612243/breaks-through-every-manner-of-sound-proofing-in) had never imagined she’d return to Ferelden ever again; [there were too many memories attached to the land to ever make it seem like home again.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c_2gHmpZmzU) The advent of the Fifth Blight had begun with her family slaughtered, betrayed by a man whom they had believed to be their ally, and somehow its end had required that her sister Saoirse sacrifice herself. That Saoirse had done so without so much as a second thought was much its own pain.

* * *

_When Morrigan had revealed to her knowledge of a ritual the eve before the final battle, it had admittedly given Niamh pause, but she couldn’t fault the end result if it meant the Wardens and her sister would live. Granted, Morrigan didn’t necessarily need anyone’s permission to begin the ritual as she pleased. Their victory wasn’t assured after all; Niamh had no doubt others would seek the desperate comfort of some last-minute intimacy before reality crashed in over their heads._

_All Morrigan required was one male Warden._

_It would have been an easy enough task. Their exploits throughout their journey had earned them infamy, and as leader of their group, Saiorse’s word held considerably more sway. Already well-regarded by the Wardens that had come to join them in Denerim, surely she could have convinced at least one to join Morrigan for the evening._

_But Saoirse had turned down the proposal. No matter how the witch had spun her argument, Saoirse kindly, but firmly, refused her. In frustration, the witch had sought Niamh out in a bid to get Saoirse to see reason, going so far as to profess she’d take leave of them all if her ritual were not to be used._

_That Morrigan had even offered it at all was its own answer to the desperation they all felt. Perhaps she would have offered it anyway, but Niamh had seen the look in her eyes. Although Morrigan had tried to shun the burden of familiarity and attachment, it had occurred anyway. She hadn’t wanted to lose a friend any more than Niamh wanted to lose her sister._

* * *

_Saoirse had been stubbornly stalwart when she entered her quarters later that evening. Her older sister presented an air of nonchalance as she sat at the table, working the blade of her sword methodically over a whetstone. She didn’t raise her head at Niamh’s arrival; perhaps she had expected her not long after Morrigan had left. Her expression was resigned, emphasized by the flatness in her tone as she spoke._

_“There isn’t more you can do to convince me otherwise.”_

_“Why will you not consider this? If the worse comes to pass—"_

_“My decision still stands.”_

_“Then ask another Warden to strike the final blow!”_

_Saiorse merely sighed. “I will not ask another to do what I will not.”_

_“What is this truly, Sister? Atonement?” she spat. “Why? Howe is dead, slain by your hands. Why do you feel the need to take another burden onto your shoulders when you’ve already avenged our family?”_

_“Don’t speak as if you were there—”_

_“Of course I wasn’t there!” Lightning sang along Niamh’s shoulders with her indignation, but Saoirse didn’t react, having long known her sister’s reactions were more expressive than most thanks to her magic. “Do you think I would have let you endure that nightmare on your own had I been? Don’t you believe I would have done anything to be at your side than stuck at the Circle, unaware if you were even alive for weeks on end? Is it not enough that I want you here?” she implored, ghostly grey eyes dimming with sadness. “Saoirse, you’re all I have left of our family.”_

_“I… I’m sorry.” Saoirse’s voice became contrite, stopping the practiced motions of her sword. “I misspoke.”_

_Silence._

_“If you can’t do it for me, then is it not enough to know that doing this will pain Leliana?” Niamh knew she had gone too far when her sister jerked her gaze up to instantly meet hers—a rare flash of anger within eyes a shade darker than her own._

_“Niamh.”_

_“She sees stars where she once found an empty sky, and you’re damning her to a life bereft of it again!”_

_“I can’t force someone to agree to this!”_

_“Sister,” she pleaded, “if Alistair understood the necessity of the ritual, he would do it in a heartbeat if it meant saving your life.”_

_“But it still would have been a choice made under duress.”_

_And Niamh had no argument against that. Tense silence drifted between them for several uncomfortable heartbeats before it was broken with the sound of a sigh and a sword being sheathed._

_“Even were the ritual to succeed, I’m not going to damn the life of an innocent with such a fate. Niamh, you’re my sister and a mage.” Saoirse looked at Niamh with quiet consideration. “While I can’t profess to know what it means to be the latter, know that I have loved and supported you always, but magic of this nature…” She shook her head, eyes unbearably sad. “I can’t do it. I’m sorry. Please, for me, take care of them.”_

* * *

_You asked me for one thing, and I couldn’t even do that,_ she mused bitterly. _I fled the first moment I could. Now I’m here, watching the world on the cusp of change once again, but this time, it will not have your hand in it. A pity._

Niamh sat quietly atop a felled tree, watching the Templars and mages move past her into the various encampments just outside The Temple of Sacred Ashes. She had no doubt the paths of the two groups had converged at some point during their travels. There were only so many different ways to get through the mountains after all. It was evident, however, that the shared trek had done little to endear themselves to one another. Clear animosity thickened the air between them.

 _They’ve already forgotten the peace you sacrificed yourself for._ Her lips thinned, and she drew her gaze away to stem the sudden anger bubbling within her chest. Had this been what they had fought so hard for all those years ago? An illusionary peace that crumbled in the face of the next great tragedy? _Would you have stood at the frontlines for this as well, Saoirse? Would you even begin to know how to dismantle the tension between them all any more than the woman here attempting to do so?_

The Conclave was admittedly a lofty goal even for one declared The Divine. From what Niamh had read of her, however, Divine Justinia seemed to genuinely care for all and not simply the ones who had the coin to operate the world as they saw fit. 

Perhaps that was why Niamh returned to Ferelden after her long, self-imposed solitude abroad. The next few days were bound to be eventful, and perhaps she wanted to see them through if only to hear whether the whole of mages would be used as a scapegoat following the disaster that befell Kirkwall. Perhaps the world could change more than once in her lifetime. Perhaps for the better this time.

Perhaps, perhaps…

“Are you a minstrel?”

Niamh blinked several times upon being drawn out of reverie, courtesy of another woman—also a mage if her Circle robes were any indication. “Pardon?”

“Oh! I didn’t mean to startle you. I couldn’t help but notice you were writing very studiously in your book there.”

“Ah. No, no. They’re just simple notes.” Brief laughter escaped her in a rush of breath. “Small things to help remind me of certain moments. The rest of the pages are usually filled with sketches.”

“I see.” The woman looked at her understandingly. “An artist then.”

“A traveling one certainly. It’s been my trade for the last decade.”

The woman’s brows raised almost imperceptibly in muted surprise. “Truly?” She watched as the woman’s eyes traveled to the staff over her shoulder before returning her gaze to Niamh with seeming embarrassment, dropping her voice a touch as she apologized. “I’m sorry. I could’ve sworn—”

Niamh merely chuckled, knowing where the conversation is heading. She didn’t see any of the familiar armor of the Templars within her periphery, so she revealed her hand. “You’re not wrong actually. I usually lead others into believing it’s a simple polearm.” Given the heavy, weaponized weight topping her staff, it wasn’t a far stretch certainly. Those who needed further convincing were left with more than just their egos broken when she demonstrated her capability with it in impromptu sparring matches. She tilted her head curiously. “You could tell at a glance it was a mage’s staff?” 

Based on the woman’s reaction, she had seemed utterly certain in her assumption, which was disconcerting. Niamh prided herself on how well she could draw little attention to herself in a crowd, blending into the usual noise and background of everyday life. It was necessary, given she had otherwise been in hiding for the past ten years.

“I’ve always been very sensitive to magic,” the woman explained, brushing pale, corn silk hair from her eyes. “You hid yours very well. If I hadn’t sensed the barest trace of lightning around the bladed end of your staff, I likely would have mistaken you for a mercenary. Are you an apostate then?” Her question held no condemnation, only curiosity and perhaps a bit of wistfulness, evident by the yearning in those kind amber eyes.

The corners of her lips turned up into a smile. “Given the current state of the world, we’re all apostates technically,” she quipped, sharing a laugh with the other woman at that.

“Very true!” She gestured vaguely down at her own attire, consisting of pale blue robes with silver trimming, indicating her place in one of Thedas’ Circles. “I wasn't certain if you had decided to forego your own during your travels here. Barring your staff, you certainly wouldn’t look out of place from any other traveler we’ve come across.”

“That was certainly my intent. I’ve no travel companions with me.”

No, those days were long behind her.

“A solivagant then.”

“By choice more than circumstance.”

She hummed thoughtfully although her gaze seemed sympathetic. “That seems a lonely existence.”

Niamh merely shrugged. “I like the quiet it provides me.” It gave her time to contemplate things—more often than she should, really. Rather than dwell on the pain that thought brought her, she offered what she hoped was a convincing smile. “But it seems my time alone has dulled my manners somewhat. Forgive me. I’m Niamh.”

“Ida,” she responded, returning the smile. “And think nothing of it. I was actually searching for one of my charges here when I spotted you first.”

“Oh?”

“Yes.” She seemed amused. “In fact, you’re sitting at one of her usual spots, which likely means she’s had to find a different place to hide.” Amber eyes peered past her then, and they gleamed with a mixture of delight and relief a moment later. “Ah! Mila!”

Niamh turned to follow her gaze just in time to see a young girl peeking over at them shyly from behind a tree. As Ida called her over a second time, Mila quickly scampered over to her, giving Niamh wide berth before promptly hiding behind her guardian.

Niamh certainly couldn’t fault her skittishness, but she despised the reasons which caused it. 

As young as the girl was, her world had essentially shifted overnight with the Templar-Mage War. Then, with the dissolution of the Circle of Magi, mages became more ostracized than ever with the general populace likening them to little more than power-hungry rebels. It was the case for some of them unfortunately, but given her nightmarish experience the last time she had been in a Circle Tower, she had never believed that the whole of a group should be judged for the misdeeds of a few. 

“Now, now, Mila. Be polite. Come out and say hi,” Ida gently urged, attempting to draw the girl out from behind her. 

Part of a dark head edged out from around Ida’s robes, brown eyes wide as she stared at Niamh. Small fingers flexed themselves at her in lieu of a wave, the wooden beads around her wrist jingling before she disappeared behind Ida again. Niamh was mindful to stifle her laughter as she leaned forward.

“What a lovely bracelet!” She grinned when Mila poked her head out cautiously at the unexpected compliment. “Were those birds I saw painted on the beads? Do you like birds?”

Mila blinked at her owlishly before hesitantly nodding once. 

“Well, as luck would have it, I’ve a drawing of one here in my booklet.” She proceeded to flip through several pages until she came across the series of sketches she made during her time in Rivain. She turned the sketchbook over, revealing a small bird with vibrant wings colored in various shades of red. Warmth settled into her despite herself upon hearing the awed gasp. “Would you like it?”

Mila looked up with desperate eagerness at Ida, who only patted her head at first. The woman's eyes had dimmed somewhat with sadness as she turned to Niamh in reply.

“With as much travel as we took to get here, I’m afraid I don’t have any coin to spare…”

“No, no, please,” Niamh insisted, neatly tearing the drawing from her sketchbook and offering it to them both. “If it makes her happy, then that is payment enough for me.”

Mila searched her guardian’s gaze again for permission, and upon receiving a nod, she took the drawing from Niamh with both hands before hugging it against her chest carefully. Giggles spilled from her when Ida reached down to ruffle her hair affectionately.

“It’s always lovely to know there is still some kindness to be found in the world.” Ida bowed her head gratefully. “Blessings upon you.”

“And to you.”

The other mage offered one last smile before gently guiding her young charge away. “Come along, Mila. We still need to gather elfroot for our healers.”

With a nod, the girl latched onto Ida’s robes, toddling alongside her dutifully while still clutching the drawing in her other hand.

As Niamh watched them depart, old memories of Oriana and Oren slipped unbidden across her mind, but she steeled her thoughts immediately, pushing them away. With a sigh, she slowly rose to her feet, flipping her sketchbook closed before tying it to her belt with a few deft loops of her hand. Then, without really meaning to, she turned her gaze down the path Ida and Mila took.

“Elfroot, hm?” Longing surged within her. She hadn’t had the urge to smoke in years, but these were admittedly unusual times. Despite having being back in Ferelden for weeks now, Niamh was still deeply unsettled, haunted by memories. Anything that could help cut the edge of stress would only be a blessing. “Hm. Needs must, I suppose. Perhaps they’d like an extra hand with the gathering if nothing else.”

Before she could begin pointing her feet in the direction of her newest acquaintances, Niamh stilled. Something just at the edge of her hearing had caught her attention, and she frowned, listening more intently. _A scream?_

A quick glance confirmed no one was nearby to aid her, and with a curse, she started for the temple. Her footsteps grew more hurried as the voice behind the door became more frantic, and the telltale singe of powerful magic rippled through the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've any questions, you're welcome to leave them down below or hit me up on [Tumblr.](https://morganaseren.tumblr.com)
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated!


	2. But Then the Gallow Gave Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Niamh and a certain Nightingale reunite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: while this chapter is going up less than 24 hours after the last one, I can't promise I'll be able to update this that frequently all the time. I just so happened to have a lot of these chapters outlined prior to my posting them.
> 
> This chapter is still mostly build up, but I hope you enjoy it nevertheless! In the next one, Niamh will be traveling to the Temple of Sacred Ashes with a certain surly Seeker. That's bound to be fun. Lol.

Niamh woke to pain in near darkness. 

Had she been fighting last? Her last recollection had been a blinding flash of viridian light along with a searing pain across her left palm. As her eyes struggled to adjust to the dim lighting, she cautiously flexed the fingers of her injured hand, but white-hot heat immediately lanced itself up her arm for her troubles. Niamh couldn’t stop the sharp exhale of breath that escaped her, and she immediately heard the frantic rustling of movement around her. 

Somehow she had obtained guards, and they were unhappy with the fact she was now awake if the sound of shouting and multiple swords unsheathing was any indication. 

To make matters worse, she soon discovered her hands were heavily-shackled, the weight of her restraints assuring she couldn’t readily retaliate if they all decided to jump her. Not that she could have offered a counterattack in her current kneeling position anyway. Bound as she was, getting to her feet would be trouble enough. 

“No sudden moves, murderer,” a grizzled male voice warned from behind her.

The accusation chilled her to her core, and she turned to look over her shoulder in shock. “What did you say?” 

No sooner had the words left her mouth, a boot met her side from the opposite direction, and the force of it was enough for her to crumple forward with a stuttering gasp. She turned her head, glaring up at the guard beneath a veil of disheveled, dark hair, but he merely jerked his chin up, unafraid and unrepentant. 

“You ‘eard what m’ friend said. Not m’ fault y’ can’t listen.” He sneered, the scar at the corner of his lips wrinkling unevenly with the gesture. “Not like we can expect much from mages like you. Your ilk is already wreakin' havoc down in Th’ Hinterlands.”

_So they know what I am._ Niamh had noted the absence of her staff’s familiar weight immediately upon waking. She wagered it had either been confiscated or broken in whatever incident had caused the worrisome gap in her memory. Her brows furrowed. What had she been doing after meeting Ida and Mila? _They weren't in danger last I can recall, but I was running somewhere, wasn't I? Where was I going?_ Her thoughts turned more pensive even as the scar-mouthed guard continued his tirade. 

“What, too good t’ speak t’ us now?” His grip on his sword tightened to the point where the blade shook as he kept it drawn toward her. “Abominations like you don’t deserve t’ live among us good folk! When th’ Hands o’ Th’ Divine get through with you—” 

A sharp crack resounded through the air as the door to the dungeons was kicked open, slamming against the adjacent wall. The torchlight outlined the forms of two figures. One hung back in the shadows, almost hesitating in their footsteps while another—a tall, dark-haired woman in unfamiliar heraldry—stalked forward. Given how quickly her captors sheathed their weapons, Niamh could only assume she was of considerable rank.

That brought her little relief as the woman slowly circled behind her. Niamh had to strain her hearing, constantly checking her peripheral vision, waiting for any indication that they would all attack her. Instead, the woman simply leaned down and growled next to her ear. 

“Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now? The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead.” She paced forward, her eyes never leaving their prisoner. “Except for _you._ ”

The woman’s glower told Niamh all she needed to know. It didn’t matter if she was innocent; she and her colleagues would never see anything past her being a mage. As far as they were concerned, Niamh was already guilty. It was an all too common injustice, and it made her want to clench her fists, but given her mysterious injury--a glowing mark, she realized now, that took up nearly the entire expanse of her palm--she forced herself to relax. If they had plans to torment her, she wouldn't start their task for them. She met the other woman's gaze evenly but offered nothing in defense. _What would it accomplish? They’ll never believe me._

Seemingly infuriated by her silence, the woman reached down to roughly grab her marked hand. “Explain this.”

“I can’t.” How could she explain what she had no knowledge of?

“Then tell us who you are!”

“A dog lord who should’ve known well enough to stay away,” she ground out morosely between gritted teeth, but her response only sparked the other woman’s ire, and two hands shot out to grab her by the collar of her coat, pulling her forward. The woman’s expression twisted with a scowl, but Niamh met her incensed gaze with equally resentful eyes. 

“None of this is helping your cause!” 

“Cassandra, enough.”

Niamh jerked in the woman’s— _Cassandra’s_ —grasp at the voice she hadn’t heard in over a decade. Slowly, fearing that she had perhaps been mistaken, she turned her head to the other figure still cloaked in shadow, who only then stepped forward before her searching gaze. Mouth dry, Niamh’s lips parted in disbelief.

“Leliana?”

“It’s been quite some time, no?” Leliana’s lips turned up almost imperceptibly into a smile, but the gesture did little to brighten the dullness that had settled within that once vibrant gaze. 

Though she would always remain beautiful to Niamh's eyes, it was evident from the faintest hints of lines across her face that the years had hardened Leliana. With their shared history, Niamh knew all too well the reason why, and for a moment, her initial happiness upon seeing her—her long unrequited love—dimmed at the thought. _Does her passing still haunt you as it does me?_

Leliana’s eyes narrowed then, which gave her pause, but Niamh soon realized she was looking further down her body, inspecting the visible bootprint over the area of her ribs. Leliana remained quiet before slowly lifting her head, pinning each guard present with an implacable stare.

“This is Niamh Cousland,” Leliana announced solemnly, “Younger sister to the late Hero of Ferelden.” Her expression--still as stone--gave nothing away even as several voices raised all at once at the unexpected revelation.

Cassandra frowned in turn, but she carefully released her hold on her collar, allowing Niamh to settle her weight back against her calves. “You’re certain of this?”

Leliana’s brow arched pointedly at the question. “I never forget a face. While I’m certain the Teyrn of Highever would be grateful to hear word his younger sister is alive and well, I doubt he’ll be pleased to learn she was injured under our care.” 

Niamh watched, both amused and impressed, as Leliana’s gaze settled purposefully on the scar-mouthed guard that had injured her. It led her to wonder if this hadn't been the first time he had mistreated a mage prisoner. In any case, she felt a wave of satisfaction as he paled instantly beneath the woman’s glacial eyes and backed further away from Niamh’s kneeling form as if burned. _Seems your skills as a bard haven’t dulled any._

“Niamh, do you remember how this happened? How this began?”

She refocused her attention at Leliana’s beckoning, but the smile that had played briefly on her lips faded as she realized her former companion’s gaze hadn’t warmed any to her. There was a stiffness in the set of her shoulders and an impassiveness in her features as she stared down at her. Her heart sank, wondering if perhaps Leliana also believed she had played a part in whatever had shaken them all and led to her imprisonment. [Did she truly think she was their enemy?](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yK-1w9tvL6o)

_It isn’t implausible for her to assume such,_ Niamh mused reluctantly. A decade stood between them after all, enough for them both to have changed significantly since then. She forced down a sigh of lament, feeling a steady throbbing taking residence just behind her eyes. She needed a tavern's worth of drink or at least some elfroot to smoke. Already, she was regretting each second she hadn't just followed after Ida. 

However, as much as Niamh certainly didn’t like her current situation, she couldn't deny her appreciation at seeing at least one familiar face even if it wasn’t necessarily a friendly one. She owed no one else there an answer, not if they had no intention of listening to her to begin with. 

For Leliana though? Yes. 

If it meant assuaging her concerns, Niamh would answer as best she could.

She could do it for her.

Always. 

_For whatever recourse is there?_ she asked herself as she stared into blue eyes that had enchanted her from the very first moment she saw them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've any questions, you're welcome to leave them down below or hit me up on [Tumblr.](https://morganaseren.tumblr.com)
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated! If you've already left kudos here, then even just a simple note telling me you're still reading this is enough honestly!


	3. Then I'll Spill This Blood For You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Niamh and Cassandra get along like oil and water. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed POVs here partway through because I felt the chapter could be better told from Cassandra's perspective. Hopefully it didn't come off as too confusing!
> 
> I'm a tad rusty when it comes to the lore of the series, so please feel free to correct me if I made a mistake somewhere down below.
> 
> Leliana will be making an appearance in the next chapter. As this is a slow burn fic, I wanted to spread out their interactions for the sake of pacing. Feelings will be caught from Leliana's end--just not right away. Lol.
> 
> And, yes, as you've already figured out, anything underlined is likely a link to some music I was listening to while writing that specific chapter. You're under no obligation to check them out, but if you like music, I hope I managed to introduce you to something new!

_Why did I not just stay in Rivain when I had the chance? I could just have easily wandered over to the Free Marches to offer commission work or strolled along the bays of Antiva, but no!_ she groused, trailing sullenly behind Cassandra. _I somehow found myself in yet another world-shattering crisis instead._

[And she could very well die because of it.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XR7Ev14vUh8)

Cassandra summarized all that had occurred while she had lain unconscious. The murder accusation aside, the largest complication following it had been the Breach. Her eyes widened at the sight of the rift that was like a death knell from the heavens themselves, disturbing every manner of natural phenomena beneath it. Even from a distance, Niamh could see that entire mountain peaks had been torn asunder, made to float as if mere petals in the breeze. 

Such was its power.

Worse, the Breach was also speculated to be linked to her hand. As the former grew, so too did the mysterious mark, made apparent from its backlash of energy—strong enough to bring her to her knees in agony—while the giant rift fluctuated ominously. The ever-widening tear in the sky had likely brought forth another wave of demons; such had been the case every hour since she had been imprisoned.

As dire as it seemed, however, Niamh found she’d rather face the Breach’s immense power directly than be met with Haven’s soldiers and refugees. She even found herself missing the dank dungeon she had woken up in as she was led—her hands still bound—through the center of the village by Cassandra, leaving her vulnerable to the sheer hatred and fury of the people. 

They jeered at her, voices raising over one other, as they openly called for her death. She was the murderer of their beloved Divine although they had no proof to the contrary. In their eyes, they saw only a mage—a demon in human guise—and a prisoner. Such things only aided in tightening the metaphorical noose about her neck. 

“They have already decided your guilt.”

 _Of course they have,_ Niamh thought bitterly. 

Then, her head jerked abruptly to the side as something hard struck her jaw. She blinked rapidly to regain her bearings, but as she turned in the direction the blow had come from, a ball of dismay gathered in the pit of her stomach.

Multiple people were kneeling down to gather rocks at their feet, quickly looking to join whoever had thrown the first stone. 

Niamh bought up her bound hands to bat away the oncoming projectiles or block them with her forearms. The thick material of her coat took the brunt of anything that couldn’t readily be deflected, but it wasn’t until Cassandra surged beside her—shield raised in defense—that the mob hesitated. Niamh didn’t know of the other woman’s reputation, but once it became unmistakably clear Cassandra wouldn’t allow any further attacks onto her, the crowd begrudgingly began to disperse.

It was a kindness she hadn’t expected of Cassandra, but Niamh hadn’t forgotten the woman had believed the same as they did not too long ago. A moment’s reprieve from harm would not undo an unwarranted accusation. If the people here found that she couldn’t close the Breach, they’d likely kill her out of principle as the lead suspect in The Divine’s death. Even if Niamh were to somehow slip away in the confusion, it didn’t change that her marked hand was still linked to the Breach itself. So long as it existed, the energy she was inextricably bound to would only seek to consume her until she withered away. 

_Executed to appeal the masses or death due to inaction..._ She worked her jaw over pensively. _Both equally bad options._

* * *

Cassandra didn’t know what to make of Niamh Cousland. 

She supposed she was grateful the other woman didn’t seem to care for small talk any more than she did. Whether her reluctance to speak was due to a more quiet, introverted nature or simple antipathy from her earlier mistreatment couldn’t be said. Not that she could blame her. 

If they survived whatever the Breach had in store for them and Cousland’s identity was made public, it would be nothing less than a diplomatic nightmare, especially once the Teyrn of Highever became involved. Ambassador Montilyet would likely be working late into the evening to quell any flaring tempers once everything came to light. 

_A bridge to cross when we come to it._

Curiously, she looked over her shoulder and was pleased to see the other woman still following after her. Cousland had offered no complaint when they had taken to the trails, lengthening her strides to keep pace with Cassandra’s own. Time was of the essence after all. Still, as conversation seemed to be left to the wayside, it gave Cassandra time to simply observe her. 

Cousland’s eyes were paler than the morning mist although one was half-obscured by the fringe of shoulder-length hair—darker than pitch—and despite the weariness in her features from the earlier events in Haven, Cassandra could see the youthfulness in them as well. The late Hero of Ferelden had been closer to Leliana in age, so it stood to reason that Cousland was at least a few years younger—perhaps just welcoming her third decade of life, give or take a season. 

The woman was also intently studying their surroundings, eyes lighting up in brief intervals when she seemed to recognize a landmark, which Cassandra realized wasn’t far from the truth. 

She would have trekked through these same mountains before in the past with her companions, seeking to find Andraste’s final resting place in order to retrieve her ashes. They were to be used to cure Arl Eamon from his mysterious illness during the macabre events that had befallen Redcliffe. The incident had been infamous at the time, involving a Desire Demon that had possessed the Arl’s son, leading to nightly attacks on the village from the undead and consequent countless deaths. 

It had been nothing short of a miracle that the Hero of Ferelden’s party had managed to save the entire family at all. Originally, as Leliana had told her, First Enchanter Irving of Ferelden’s Circle had been summoned to deal with the demon, but as the situation lapsed drastically, Cousland had volunteered instead to enter the Fade and strike the Desire Demon down once and for all. 

_The Fade…_ Cassandra grimaced. 

It was often a double-edged sword for any mage. Tapping into the Fade was necessary to conjure spells, and while it was possible for mages to linger within it with the use of lyrium, it left them vulnerable to demons, who could possess them if caught unaware. 

As if reading her thoughts, the Breach chose that moment to discharge several large blasts. One destroyed the bridge beneath their feet, leaving them to plummet onto the frozen lake, while the other released a pair of demons for them to contend with. Cursing, she motioned Cousland to remain behind her while she drew her sword to meet their enemies head-on. 

Before Cassandra could make it more than a few paces, however, a burst of heat sailed past her—a spear-tipped inferno—that exploded into a demon’s face upon impact. It shrieked violently, flailing amidst the flames overtaking it, and the nauseating stench of sickly, rotted gristle and sulfur reached her nose. 

The commotion soon drew the attention of its companion, who began to swarm forward with quick lunges. The hairs at the back of Cassandra’s neck bristled on end, but it had little to do with fear. She had a lifetime of dealing with such creatures after all. 

No. Lightning magic was in effect. 

Cassandra’s eyes caught the flickering orb of energy high above the demons, which also created a perfect circle along the ground. It had a considerably large radius, and it trapped the demons within the electrical field, where the ebb and flow of its power forced them to its center. The scent of rapidly-heating air permeated the area, and that was all the warning she had before the deafening crack from a bolt of lightning struck down both the demons, destroying them instantly. 

As she watched their essence fade into the ether with startled awe, Cassandra remembered Leliana had once told her of the mages she traveled with during The Blight. While they were all equally skilled in various forms of magic, Cousland had specialized more in the elemental aspects of it, which was abundantly clear now. 

_“Powerful but disciplined,”_ Leliana had said when describing her with some measure of sad fondness. _“Had she remained following that final battle, she likely would have been named First Enchanter Irving’s successor once the time came for him to retire.”_

Cassandra glanced up briefly at the Breach before turning around to face Cousland. _Powerful indeed…_ she thought darkly. 

The other woman's brows were knitted together with what appeared to be worry as she jogged forth to meet her with a staff Cassandra knew she hadn’t possessed before. “Are you alright?” 

Cassandra flicked her sword up in response. “Drop your weapon. _Now._ ” 

Her demand had taken Cousland aback, causing her to draw up short. The corners of her lips downturned into a frown, and what mild concern had been in her eyes faded into slow-simmering contempt. “Do you truly believe I need this staff to be dangerous?” 

“Is that supposed to reassure me?!” 

“Says the Templar with her sword still drawn!" 

“I’m not a Templar!” 

“And I’m more than just a mage!” Cousland growled back, just as infuriated. “Do recall that I came with you willingly despite my treatment from you and your colleagues,” she spat before flashing her hand, which crackled erratically with the Mark’s verdant light—a possible testament to her mood. “There’s more than just my life at stake. If you had wanted me dead, then you should have let your soldiers and those villagers finish what they started, or you can wait and see if I can actually fix the Maker-be-damned sky before you decide to execute me anyway!” 

The fatalistic statement was ice water to her senses. 

At once, Cassandra could see the jadedness that Cousland had hidden behind her eyes. It appeared the woman truly didn’t believe she’d be set free once all was said and done. No, as a mage, she would have lived all her life with the knowledge she was despised simply for existing. The barrage of pure venom and hostility she had experienced in Haven had likely only reinforced that belief. What reason had they given her to think otherwise? 

Chagrined, Cassandra slowly sheathed her sword. “They won’t—" 

“Why, because of my name?” Cousland scoffed. “You know I’m a mage. It doesn’t matter if I was born from nobility; I forfeited all claims to my family’s estate along with any titles the moment my magic manifested, so save. Your. Words,” she bit out between clenched teeth. “You don’t trust me; I don’t trust you. That’s the only truth I’ll accept between us as of now.” 

With that, Cousland settled her staff behind her back and strode past her. 

Cassandra said nothing as she watched her go, pausing to gather her thoughts. Cousland hadn’t once used her magic on any of her assailants earlier although it was evident now she had been more than capable of it. She had chosen to defend herself rather than retaliate. 

Cousland didn’t seem to be a woman who could be easily provoked into fighting. If Cassandra hadn’t stepped in, would she have continued to endure the mob’s hate? Weathered every attack until she had been left battered and broken? 

The thought--and its possible answer--didn’t sit well with her. 

Cassandra exhaled in disgust. She had spoken of not lashing out, but in a moment of doubt, she had instantly gone back on her words. With a sigh, she hurried to follow after Cousland, hoping to salvage the situation. 

If they stood any chance against containing the Breach, it was imperative they worked together. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've any questions, you're welcome to leave them down below or hit me up on [Tumblr.](https://morganaseren.tumblr.com)
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated! If you've already left kudos here, then even just a simple note telling me you're still reading this is enough honestly!
> 
> Next chapter will go up Friday if not sooner.


	4. They Will Run You Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra tries her best; really, she does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to keep these chapters as consistent as I can in terms of length; otherwise, I get too overwhelmed, which ruins my creative mojo apparently. The muse is such a fickle thing sometimes. As such, I had to cut this in half. 
> 
> At this rate, they'll get to the temple in the next chapter; I promise!

Cassandra did her best to ignore the blithe banter behind her. Whatever had been discussed, however, resulted in another round of guffaws, causing her to roll her eyes as she led their way through the heavy snowdrifts.

They had met with Varric and Solas through their trek deeper into the mountains, and for reasons she hadn’t been able to yet fathom, Cousland and the dwarf got along exceedingly well together. The other woman had warmed to his jovial nature instantly, going so far as to trade well-timed quips with Varric, delighting the renowned author to no end. Worse, she had even somehow managed to draw a few good-natured chuckles from the ever stoic Solas, who brought up the rear of their party.

Cassandra frowned at that.

She’d been suspicious of him the moment he arrived to offer aid in Haven; the timing had seemed entirely too coincidental. That he also seemed to possess great knowledge of the Breach was of equal concern, but it very well could have been tied to his considerable experience of the Fade, as both were interconnected. 

She sighed.

Then again, she supposed there was more to magic she was likely ignorant of. She had never assumed there was anything powerful enough to open an immense rift in the sky after all. 

As for Cousland, the other woman hadn’t initiated any form of conversation with her since reaching the outpost. 

* * *

_There, they had caught Leliana and Chancellor Roderick in the midst of a heated argument—one which likely had been going on for quite some time if the uneasiness of the soldiers and scouts nearby had been any indication._

__

_Roderick was adamant their current position be abandoned less more lives be lost. He wanted to begin preparation in finding the new Divine immediately, ignoring the threat of the Breach to the incredulity of Cousland, who had said just as much. That had done little to appease the Chancellor’s mood, for he had objected to her presence entirely, calling upon her arrest and eventual execution._

_It had been the wrong thing to say._

_The subject was still too fresh a wound for Cousland, and[Cassandra had watched as those grey eyes cooled remarkably.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UzXuQbcp8Yc) Atop the outpost, it was already near frigid—exposed to the elements as they were—but she could have sworn the temperature had dropped several degrees entirely within the span of mere seconds. _

_She glanced quickly at Leliana, who met her gaze. Sky blue eyes flickered briefly to Cousland before returning back to her, confirming Cassandra hadn’t been mistaken. It should have been cause for concern, but as their Spymaster, very little unnerved Leliana, who simply left Cousland be—an indication itself that Cassandra should likely do the same. If anything, whatever tension Cassandra sensed from her counterpart at all was due in large part to Roderick if her unimpressed countenance was any indication._

_Thankfully, despite Cousland’s initial reaction, she hadn’t done more than sigh afterward, choosing to stare off beyond the ramparts rather than add to a conversation that was steadily going about in circles._

_At least until it had been left to her to decide their path._

_“Oh, my apologies,” Cousland had begun dryly as she crossed leather-clad arms over her chest. “You’re asking for_ **my** _opinion now?”_

 _“You have the Mark,” Solas interjected before Cassandra could. “As you’ve demonstrated earlier with its use, we won’t stand a chance of sealing the Breach without you. Such as it is, it should fall to you to decide the best course forward.”_

_It was a reasonable argument, and Cassandra was pleased Cousland seemed to take the matter into consideration rather than offer further reticence. She watched as the other woman studied the trail that would offer them the quickest passage to the temple. What relief she had soon turned to dismay, however, when Cousland turned her attention over to the route leading further into the mountains instead—Leliana’s suggested path._

_“We have our way forward then,” Cousland announced, and Cassandra couldn’t help but protest._

_“We’ve already lost contact with an entire squad there. As active as the Breach has been, we have no way of knowing if the pathway is even still there. Surely you can see the temple pass would be the best option.”_

_“True,” Cousland conceded mildly, glancing at her out of the corner of her eye. “But we'd risk playing into our enemy's hands.”_

_“You believe someone’s behind this?” Cassandra asked only to grimace when a dark brow rose languidly in response._

_“You all presumed I was responsible for the Breach earlier, didn’t you?” she deadpanned before shrugging. “I was not—reluctant as some of you are to believe otherwise—but it also opens up the possibility that someone else is. If they went to the trouble of creating something on so massive a scale, couldn’t it be said they’d also be displeased to see their work undone?”_

_At that moment, Cousland’s Mark flared, energy crackling around her hand audibly enough that Roderick flinched violently. He backed away further as if the table between them would protect him from the mage._

_Leliana turned to Cousland, frowning. “Are you alright?” Her eyes didn’t leave the Mark, and it occurred to Cassandra that the other woman had never seen it so active before._

_“It’s nothing.” Cousland turned her hand over a few times, but her expression was calm, looking at the Mark like it was little more than a mere nuisance at best._

_It didn’t make any sense._

_Cassandra had seen the force of the Mark bring her to her knees before. Was the effect of it lessening, or had Cousland simply grown used to the pain? Could she be hiding it from them entirely rather than risk showing any indication of vulnerability?_

_“In any case, if there is some force actively attempting to divert us from the temple, then a direct assault will be exactly what they’re expecting,” Cousland continued. Her gaze turned to the skies, and as she took in the swirling vertex of energy that was the Breach, her placid features shifted to one of determined resolve. “Let’s prove them wrong, shall we?”_

* * *

Despite her initial reservations, Cousland’s decision to take the mountain path had been a sound one. 

Although they had run across demons again in their ascent, the numbers were negligible at best—far less than they likely would have encountered had they chosen to stay with the bulk of their forces below. As luck would have it, they had also come across the very squad they had lost communications with earlier.

“Thank the Maker you finally arrived, Lady Cassandra,” the soldier gasped as she was helped to her feet following the sealing of the rift. “I don’t think we could have held out much longer.” 

“Thank our pris—” Cassandra stopped the rest of the word from forming when she saw Cousland staring at them both. Although the other woman’s expression had been relatively open as they fought the demons away from their soldiers, nothing was reflected at all in those ghostly grey eyes now as she retreated inwardly, walling herself off from their judgment. For a moment, Cassandra wondered all she had endured for this to have become such a practiced response. She wet her lips and cleared her throat, trying again. 

“Thank Lady Cousland,” she corrected, tipping her head minutely in apology when the woman turned to her in apparent surprise. “She insisted we come this way.”

“‘Cousland?’” The soldier repeated in confusion. “But aren’t you the…?” Her voice trailed off as she eyed the mage, and Cassandra cringed internally, wondering if the situation would deteriorate once she realized who had elected to save her and the rest of her companions. Instead, she was relieved when the woman merely pressed a fist over her heart gratefully. “You have my sincere gratitude, my lady.”

“Yes. Well.” Cousland, for her part, canted her head as she stared at them both, bemused. Her eyes still held some measure of caution, as if she couldn’t believe she was being genuinely thanked. “It was worth saving you, if we could.” She mustered up a small smile before gesturing off to the side. “The path behind us is clear of demons for now. Please, do go while you still have the chance.”

The soldier nodded her assent, and she was quick to round up the rest of her comrades, leaving the four of them alone. 

It was decided they would stop for the moment to catch their breath. They didn’t know what they would find upon reaching the temple, so they replenished themselves where they could. Cassandra pulled the stopper from a flask to down a health potion, and she could see Varric tending to his crossbow while Solas was kindly offering one of his lyrium flasks to Cousland when he discovered she had none of her own. As quickly as they had left Haven, save for the clothing on Cousland’s back and the staff she had found along the way, Cassandra realized with a guilty pang that the other woman had no supplies whatsoever.

She had never once heard her voice a complaint over it. Cousland had simply continued to fight alongside them without any expectation she be coddled in any way, adapting seamlessly to her companion’s tactics and offering equal measures of crowd control and offensive ability that left their enemies easy targets to her party’s own attacks. 

Still, it was a matter that needed to be corrected, Cassandra decided, and once Solas left Cousland’s side to tend to one of Varric’s injuries, she sidled over to her. She cleared her throat, catching the woman’s attention from where she had been staring across the mountain, and offered her a health potion.

“Oh.” Cousland had blinked owlishly at it in surprise before gently taking the flask between her fingertips. “Thank you, but don’t you need it more? You’re in the thick of battle more than I am after all.”

“Yes, but your safety is more imperative. Solas was right; we can not do this without you, and…” Cassandra trailed off, hesitating. She had never been good with these things. “And your barriers have been most helpful. I haven’t found the need to use my flasks nearly as much, so I do not mind sharing them with you until we are able to get you some of your own.”

“I see. Well, thank you then.” Cousland didn’t necessarily smile, but she did tip the flask toward her in a toast before thumbing off the stopper and draining the contents in a few swallows. “I imagine we’re getting close now.”

Cassandra nodded firmly. “We are.”

“Good. Let’s finish this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've any questions, you're welcome to leave them down below or hit me up on [Tumblr.](https://morganaseren.tumblr.com)
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated! If you've already left kudos here, then even just a simple note telling me you're still reading this is enough honestly!


	5. Will We Burn Inside the Fires of a Thousand Suns?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The party finally reaches the temple, and Niamh wishes they hadn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A slightly longer chapter for you all this time! Thanks so much for all the attention you've been giving this so far! It's such wonderful encouragement to know that people are enjoying my work!

Niamh hadn’t been prepared for the destruction that awaited them.

Save for a few staggering bits of stone foundation, not much of the Temple of Sacred Ashes remained. Beyond its broken threshold, she could see the towering spires that had formed from the Breach’s epicenter. There was an almost macabre elegance to them as they curled out and above like skeletal fingers, reaching for the heavens as if in fruitless supplication. The air was also… uncomfortably warm—suffocatingly so—despite the high elevation. The ground and the peaks of the nearby mountains couldn’t even hold snow atop their surfaces as a result. 

Unfortunately, the heat soon revealed evidence of something else as well.

The stench of charred flesh hit her hard, and she nearly gagged, smothering the scent by hiding her nose in the crook of her elbow. She heard similar reactions from her companions behind her, but as she looked about, her gaze soon widened in horror. 

[Everywhere she looked, she saw death.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gcV2Q3CBzCg)

Entire groups of people had been incinerated where they stood, arms raised in defense to an attack that no mere mortal could have ever hoped to survive. It was a grisly scene for even the most hardened individual, but what stilled her more were the bodies that barely stood waist-high. Most of the small forms had fallen to the ground, either in an attempt to scramble away or—worse—were trampled into the dirt by those who had been desperately trying to flee.

Their presence here at all made a terrible amount of sense. 

Knowing Circles as well as she did, Niamh didn’t doubt there had been children within them when the war occurred. She had even met some on her travels to The Hinterlands and had the opportunity to speak with them. The adolescents were glad to simply be free, but of the sudden upheaval in their lives, many of the youngest were left largely confused. They hadn’t understood why they had to leave their towers any more than they understood why people were now always angry at them. It was a terrifying time certainly, but they found comfort in the safety of those they were familiar with. 

The Conclave had been a bid for peace.

 _And for their participation, their lives were cut short,_ Niamh thought grimly.

She traipsed forward carefully amidst fallen debris with her companions, but as her foot nudged an object in the dirt, something bade her to look down. There, Niamh found an overturned basket that had managed to escape the Breach’s initial explosion—albeit barely—due in part to having likely rolled alongside the bulk of a broken pillar.

One side of the handwoven basket had been burned clear off, revealing partially-singed elfroot underneath it. However, as the clouds shifted overhead, she caught the polished gleam of something hidden further beneath the dark leaves, and her curiosity led her to kneel down and brush aside the foliage. Dried from the heat, the delicate limbs cracked under the slightest touch, but eventually, she was able to extricate a simple piece of jewelry from the pile:

A small bracelet with wooden beads. 

A sickening realization washed over her then as she looked about frantically, trying to find any evidence that would prove her wrong. There, however, beneath a broken archway at just the edge of the blast zone sat a kneeling pair of bodies—one larger and one significantly smaller. The former had been cradling the child-sized form to them, likely attempting to protect them from as much of the explosion as possible, but it had clearly been in vain. 

There was nothing to confirm the corpses had in fact been Ida and little Mila—charred beyond all recognition—but as Niamh felt the damning weight of the tiny bracelet in her hand, the beads began to rattle violently against one another as her body started to shake.

To have such evidence that so many innocents died here…

“And you thought _I_ did this?!” Niamh screamed, unable to stop the arcing of electricity that raced once along her shoulders as she whirled on Cassandra. 

The anger she had felt in their earlier argument paled to the utter fury suffusing her now. She was to be accused of such a heinous crime? _She_ who had been taken screaming from her home as a child? Who grew up amidst the faces of strangers than that of her own kin? They thought her this much a monster?

Cassandra had done little more than move back a step at her sudden outburst. Her expression was tight—if not uncomfortable—but she hadn’t drawn her weapon again either although her gloved hand had tightened on its hilt. Niamh distractedly heard the subtle cracks and pops of lightning licking at the ends of her own hair, and it was enough that Varric shifted uneasily on his feet while Solas watched in quiet fascination. 

“You’re here. Thank the Maker!”

Grey eyes flickered past Cassandra to see Leliana had finally arrived with her men and was quickly looking to meet them. The sight of her was enough to give Niamh pause, and although difficult, she made every effort to tamp down the storm that had been growing inside her. While others were free to judge her as they saw fit, what Leliana thought of her mattered, and Niamh wasn’t about to tarnish whatever reputation the other woman had built over the years by having people believe she had once freely associated with a mage who couldn’t control her temper. 

Niamh wasn’t a stranger to being subjected to acrimony after all, but the circumstances surrounding the matter now were significantly different. After so long alone, she had found herself thrust into sudden notoriety due to a false allegation, and the masses would rather see her hang because of it. That there was a possibility she would still die trying to fix a wrong that had never been hers, it was little wonder her patience was already fraying. 

Slowly, soundlessly, Niamh released a breath, and as her shoulders relaxed, so too had the tempest inside her, allowing the lightning dancing across her form to dissipate. 

Leliana seemed curious, for in the past, she had seen her magic on display before whenever her emotions flared. However, Niamh subtly shook her head and offered a faint smile, letting her converse with Cassandra to draw together a plan while she drew her own attention elsewhere.

If Niamh survived this, there would be time to clear her name later. For now, there was work to be done.

* * *

It had been decided that Leliana and her men would take up positions around the ruined temple, providing cover when needed while Niamh’s party traveled further within. She walked past corpses whose expressions were held in a permanent rictus of terror and tried not to let the sight of them faze her. The image would likely still haunt her for years to come, and if they had been the only nightmare, she’d have been glad of it.

Varric, however, spoke of the red lyrium they saw lining the broken foundations, capable of driving individuals mad if exposed too long in their presence. It was worrisome enough, but she did wonder how they came to be here. Varric was unusually somber as he eyed them, and given his typical verbosity, Niamh determined it was a conversation for another time.

There were more pressing matters to attend to. 

She led the way, dropping first onto the ground that would lead to the rift that encompassed the space several meters above them. Familiar verdant energy flowed from its center, but it distorted reality more vividly than any of the others they’d across thus far. Mirror-like crystals jutted out from the rift like a hungry maw, continually retreating and growing—the sound akin to shattering glass—as it offered brief, twisted glimpses of both the Fade and the world around it. 

As she approached it, her Mark flared, and she gazed down at in confusion before a voice—full of desperate pleading—echoed in the space around them followed by her own. The latter had her staring back at the rift in stunned silence, even moreso when images appeared a moment later with a thunderous clap, showing Niamh, The Divine, and a mysterious entity. _What is this? How is this possible?_

“You _were_ there!” Cassandra exclaimed behind her, and Niamh wasn’t certain if she heard relief or further accusation in her voice as the woman strode forward to stand in her line of sight. “Who attacked? And The Divine, is she…?” Those lips thinned, and fury shone in the woman's dark eyes. “Was this vision true? _What_ are we seeing?” she demanded. 

“I don’t even remember most of this happening,” Niamh growled back, stepping forward to Cassandra’s posturing. The woman’s heart was likely in the right place, Niamh knew, but she wasn’t to be intimidated. She gestured vaguely to the rift. “All I can clearly recall is hearing a cry in the distance. I thought someone was in danger, so I went inside to investigate, but everything that might have occurred beyond that?” Niamh sighed even as she tried to pull the memories forward to little avail. “I honestly don’t remember.”

Thankfully, Solas offered his insight on the matter then, interrupting the tension between them. As expected, the images they had seen were ones of the past, revealed due to the Fade’s influence. 

“I believe that with the Mark, the rift can be opened and then sealed properly and safely,” he continued. “However, opening the rift will likely attract attention from the other side.”

And it had. 

No sooner had Niamh opened the rift that a massive Pride demon was conjured into being. She and Solas barely had enough time to cast a barrier around their companions before they were immediately put on the defensive as the demon roared and slammed its massive fists down—just managing to miss them. As Niamh backed away to get her bearings, she could feel her teeth rattle with every step the demon took, and to make matters worse, none of their attacks seemed to affect it at all.

The demon had merely shrugged off the volley of arrows, fire magic couldn’t so much as mar its thick hide, and outright brute force had done little but amuse it. It laughed—the sound deep, sinister, and mocking—as it raised a foot and brought it down toward Cassandra. Niamh was just able to cast a barrier around her, granting her some measure of cover as the warrior dodged to the side to escape. 

Quickly, the fight was becoming a battle of attrition—one she wasn’t certain they were prepared for.

“Lady Cousland!”

At the call, she turned to Solas, who was quickly flinging several fire attacks at the demon in an attempt to draw it further away from the rift. 

“Use your Mark again!” he instructed. “The rift cannot be sealed again while the demon still lives, but it may be enough to affect its presence here in our world!” Solas casted a Fire Mine beneath the demon’s foot, which exploded, causing it to stumble as the mage moved to safer ground near Varric. 

Niamh raised her hand toward the portal, and as energy poured from the Mark, the rift fluctuated rapidly before releasing a sudden shock of energy. At once, the demon shuddered and fell to one knee as if dazed, and as they proceeded to attack it once more, it roared with great furor as it raised its arms in defense--something it hadn't done prior. They could harm it now and so had succeeded in truly infuriating it for the first time since the battle began. 

With their combined efforts, Varric and the other archers were able to distract the large beast as she and Solas sent wave after wave of fire toward their foe, further weakening its defenses. As they did, Cassandra snuck around behind the demon and struck at its legs to try and limit its mobility. However, the beast was as shrewd as it was powerful, and with a mighty bellow the demon was able to manipulate the rift and summon companions of its own to fight against them.

Niamh felt the malevolent presence behind her almost a second too late, and as she whirled about—fire in her fist—the Shade was already poised to attack. Then, to the surprise of them both, it convulsed in place, causing its unearthly growl to cut off mid-cry. Slowly, as if in disbelief, it reached up with trembling claws to touch the arrow suddenly impaled into the side of its head, but no sooner had it firmly grasped the end of the shaft that it simply keeled over, dead. 

She looked about in confusion, wondering where the arrow had come from, but as she followed its most probable trajectory, her gaze was drawn up to a figure standing atop the highest stone perch. Leliana offered her only a simple nod before her attention was drawn elsewhere, reaching into her quiver for more arrows to keep their enemies at bay. 

_Some things never change, I guess,_ she mused with a faint smile. 

Her brief mirth slowly faded as she considered the situation at hand, however. Although they had weakened it earlier thanks to the Mark, their foe had a considerable amount of stamina. The demon could certainly outlast them at this rate, and it was a situation they could ill afford. 

Unfortunately, Niamh had discovered early on that she couldn’t even use her element of choice here, as the demon also harnessed lightning as a form of magical offense. It was frustrating to be certain, and she was just barely able to dodge another of its whip-like attacks, but the current was powerful enough that she felt the soles of her boots singe in passing. She cursed beneath her breath. “And here I thought that damned dragon was to be my final foe when I was here last.”

She paused in consideration. 

_Wait…_ Niamh thought, remembering a scene from what felt like a lifetime ago. 

Quickly, her eyes darted across the battlefield to find Leliana’s form, and she placed two fingers in her mouth in a shrill whistle to catch the other woman’s attention. As soon as that head turned down toward her, Niamh tapped beneath one of her own eyes with a grim smirk, receiving at first a raised brow and then a firm nod once Leliana realized what she required of her. 

“Varric! Cassandra! Keep those Shades off us as long as you can!” Niamh ordered. “Solas! Help me stagger it quickly!”

Although there was a brief pause, the warrior soon retreated from the demon’s hulking form to focus her attention on their smaller foes much like Varric had. With the immediate threats now off her, Niamh encased one of the beast’s legs in ice while Solas proceeded to set off a Fire Mine beneath its other foot. With its balance disrupted, it fell again heavily to one knee, much to its vexation. It threw its head back in another blaring groan, but Niamh merely smiled. 

No sooner had a heartbeat passed that she saw several arrows burying themselves—dead and center—into each of the demon’s eyes, and it’s pain-filled screech was even more deafening. Now blinded, it reached up to try and rid itself of the source of its agony, but it gave a howling moan every time it so much as grazed one of the arrows.

From there, Niamh wasted little time in gathering lightning in the cradle of her hands, waiting until the mass of energy had attained a considerable size. It was only when she felt a familiar numbness building in her fingertips did she finally release it. At her bidding, the stream of energy surged toward the demon’s face, and with the arrows now acting as lightning rods, she was able to do devastating damage with the multiple points of vulnerability Leliana had opened up for her. 

As its very eye sockets sizzled and and smoked, the demon bayed helplessly, its maw falling open to reveal some semblance of the powerful electric current Niamh was flooding to every core of its body. Jerking erratically, it then gave one final lurch forward, and its essence faded on the winds before it even hit the ground.

As to what came after, Niamh couldn’t readily say. 

Perhaps it had been the stressful events of the day, the fact that she may have overexerted herself in the battle, or even a combination of the two. However, as soon as she had activated the Mark to try and seal the Breach, the rift before them had pulsed heavily with viridian light to the point of being blinding before a sudden shockwave took everyone off their feet.

Niamh had been flung sideways, and she felt her back immediately collide with something hard and unyielding, causing her vision to turn a searing white with the pain of it. As her body slid to the ground, she was vaguely aware of people moving toward her, but she found she couldn’t hear anything clearly. It was like she was underwater in one of Antiva’s bays, where sound warped and distorted itself beneath the waves. 

Distractedly, she turned her head to where she had last seen Leliana and was dismayed to find the woman was no longer there. Had one of the demons managed to slip past them and get to her? Had she been injured as a result of Niamh’s inattentiveness?

She tried to get up against the hands that desperately urged her otherwise, but her efforts were borne of little strength, and she collapsed onto her back not long after. 

She heard another shout.

Cassandra’s perhaps? The woman wasn’t paying attention to her though. Instead, she seemed to be yelling for someone in the distance. Solas was kneeling beside her, hands over her chest, and she could feel another’s magic trying to mend her aches and hurts, but it was for naught.

Niamh was so very tired, and as she stared at the skies above her, she realized night had fallen. Their mission had been a long and arduous one, and now stars had littered the heavens. They were all so very bright, and for a moment, her heart filled with painful longing. She remembered the nights so long ago where she had sat alongside Leliana at the campfire as the other woman told her tales of legendary figures whom the stars were named after. Niamh had cherished those quiet occasions. For a time, she could forget the burdens placed upon them as she soaked herself in Leliana's warm presence and the measure of peace she'd found within it.

_What I would have given for even just another brief moment of that…_

Her eyes distractedly tried to piece together one of the constellations from memory, but halfway through the exercise, the stars simply disappeared as pitch black night fell over her, and she thought no more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've any questions, you're welcome to leave them down below or hit me up on [Tumblr.](https://morganaseren.tumblr.com)
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated! If you've already left kudos here, then even just a simple note telling me you're still reading this is enough honestly!


	6. Where I Know She is Waiting For Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enemies of the Nightingale should fear her resolve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter took considerably longer to edit because it took forever and a day to get inside Leliana's head. I'm honestly surprised I wrote this much, considering I've never really written anything in her POV before. I'm not entirely certain if I've gotten her characterization down to where I'd want it to be, but for now, I'm content, and as I get more comfortable with writing her, I'm hoping it will improve.
> 
> As always, thanks so much for giving this fic so much attention! I think I got over a hundred hits from the last chapter along with several comments and kudos! Your support really does mean everything to me, as it definitely helps keep my momentum for this going!
> 
> Hope you all enjoy this latest chapter!

Leliana sighed soundlessly as she made her way through Haven’s main compound. It was late enough that many of the residents had already turned into bed. That she was awake at all wasn’t unusual given her role as Spymaster, but she had just left an emergency meeting with the newly-formed War Council. Granted, the establishment of the Inquisition had yet to be made public, but there were a multitude of matters to consider. 

One of which concerned their would-be savior. 

“Here to visit with the Herald, Sister Leliana?”

She glanced up to see Charter seated atop a stool, whetstone and dagger in hand. Although the elven woman’s demeanor seemed remarkably relaxed as she sharpened the edge of her blade with absentminded strokes, Leliana had no doubt she was giving her task—that being guarding the cabin where Niamh was currently recuperating in—all the due attention it deserved. Her grip on her weapon of choice was steady and assured, and while her eyes were half-hooded, giving the appearance of weariness, Leliana could see how alert they were despite the late hour, still keenly following her every movement. 

To anyone else, Charter could be seen as little more than an easy target, but Leliana knew better. She always did. It would have been no different than what she would have done in the same situation. Sometimes it was far easier to weed out dangers by letting them approach at their own bidding than purposefully seeking them out. 

A thread of satisfaction and approval filled her. 

As one of her senior agents, Charter knew how to meet—if not outright exceed—her expectations. Granted, Leliana was well aware “Charter” wasn’t her given name; it was merely one of several aliases tied to her. The secrecy should have been cause for concern, but Leliana’s network had considerable reach, and with it came the knowledge that could topple entire empires if need be. Sifting through the history of one individual seemed inconsequential in comparison, but she had required someone of Charter’s skills and had said as much when approaching her several years ago after the woman had successfully evaded her other agents only to come face to face with the Nightingale herself. 

She pulled herself out of her musings when she saw that Charter was still patiently awaiting a response. “I take it she’s still resting?” Her words were more statement than question. She and Cassandra had already given strict orders to the rotating guards on duty they were to be alerted at once when Niamh awoke. 

“She is. The healer says her wounds are healing well, and he expects she’ll make a full recovery.” With a languid stretch, Charter rose to her feet but not before wiping at her dagger one last time with an old rag.

“Here.” Leliana pulled a soft, worn cloth from her belt and handed it to her. “Yours seem well past retirement.” 

It seemed a simple enough gesture but folded underneath the cloth was a small note. While there was always a risk such messages could fall into enemy hands, the parchment was laden with codes that only her most trusted of agents could decipher. In this case, it was instructions to be relayed to Scout Harding’s group to surreptitiously guard Mother Giselle in The Hinterlands until a proper retinue could be sent.

“My thanks.” Charter nodded gratefully. She reached behind her to open the door for Leliana. “Should I make myself scarce for the next half hour?”

“If you wouldn’t mind.” Despite her words, she knew she had a handful of agents watching the cabin from a distance at any given time, but for her purposes, it was private enough. 

“Of course. Have a good evening, Sister.”

She heard the door latch close behind her, and her steps were silent as she wandered over to the bed. As expected, Niamh was still asleep. She hadn’t regained consciousness since they brought her back to Haven several days ago. 

* * *

_The battle at the Breach had been a near thing._

_Conventional means of attack had done little against their demonic foe, and it had taken Niamh’s clever thinking and both their combined skills to bypass its thick hide entirely and destroy the beast from within in one fell swoop. However, when it came time for the other woman to seal the rift, no one had been prepared for the powerful backlash of energy._

_Leliana recalled the moment everyone had been blown off their feet, and although she hadn’t been active on the field in years, enough of her old instincts were ingrained in her that she instinctively backflipped off her perch to take cover just as the shockwave washed over her. The ensuing blast had been near deafening, and her ears had rung for several moments afterward. She rose shakily to her feet, struggling to regain her bearings, but she could dimly hear Cassandra shouting frantically in the distance._

_“Quickly! Prepare a litter for Lady Cousland!” she had heard. “We need to get her back to Haven immediately!”_

_Pure ice gripped her heart, and fearing the worst, Leliana had begun racing to where the others were. As she rounded the corner, however, she saw several people huddled around Niamh, who was lying so very still…_

* * *

Gemstone blue eyes blinked, and she found herself back in the present again. Her gaze trailed absentmindedly over her unconscious friend, noting the bandages around much of her upper torso. With as close as Niamh had been to the rift, she had borne the brunt of the blast, and so there had been little to stop her sudden momentum as she was sent sailing back into a pillar.

The healer Adan had assured them nothing had been broken surprisingly, but Leliana saw the deep, mottled bruising which marred the woman’s form. She’d likely be feeling her injuries for days to come once she awoke, he had said, but more than anything, her body needed the rest. Adan had also mentioned quietly that he saw evidence Niamh hadn’t been eating or sleeping regularly prior to the fight. It wasn’t uncommon a sight for anyone partaking in the pilgrimage to The Temple of Sacred Ashes; the journey itself was one of exceptional mental and physical fortitude. Between that and how much magic she had likely expended in the battle, it was little wonder she hadn’t collapsed long before then.

 _“If she is the Herald of Andraste, then perhaps it’s no surprise at all,”_ Adan had mused aloud while wrapping a new set of bandages around his patient.

At the thought, Leliana felt the exhaustion of the day settling into her own bones, and so she seated herself into the chair next to the bed. “I imagine you’re going to be very displeased when you wake up..."

During their travels together, Niamh had said she’d been raised Andrastian like the rest of her siblings, but she had admitted with reluctance to Leliana that after her time in the Circle, she had long stopped believing in the Maker or His Bride. She greatly respected Leliana’s faith, she had hastened to reassure, but she couldn’t abide the words of a god who would grant His children magical abilities only to have mages be so openly demonized and caged for gifts they had never asked for.

_“As it stands, I will never care for the Chantry any more than I care for the Circles it constructed to bring others like me to heel out of simple fear.”_

Leliana knew such ideology wouldn’t make her popular among the clerics. Already she had reports from her agents which denounced Niamh as the Herald of Andraste, and she closed her eyes with exhausted amusement, realizing the other woman would have been the first to agree with them. 

Although many had thought ill of Niamh when she had first been imprisoned, her actions at the Breach had allowed them to see her in a new light. As such, they would likely look to her for guidance in the days to come, which she had no doubt would irk Niamh to no end. 

She had never wanted the mantle of leadership. 

Even in their travels together, Niamh had been more than content to follow in her sister’s lead. Granted, she was a far cry from the young woman they had liberated from the Kinloch Hold so long ago, but Leliana knew that Niamh’s conscience would not allow for the suffering of others to go unattended, especially if she held the key to their salvation. Niamh was more than capable of leading them even if reluctantly.

_I suppose that was one of the stark differences between you both, no?_

Although they were close, Niamh and Saoirse had been as different as night and day both physically and personality-wise.

Her late beloved had said she had taken more after their mother with her fair hair—the length of which she often braided and trailed down half her spine. As a warrior, Saoirse had spent a great deal of her time outside training with the castle guards, and she had the sun-kissed skin and the muscled physique to prove it along with a personality that was bold in both speech and deed.

Niamh, however, inherited their father’s dark-haired looks along with their brother Fergus, but all three of the Cousland siblings had shared their mother’s grey eyes—if in varying shades. Of the two sisters, Niamh was slighter in size but lithe in form and closer to Leliana in height than Saoirse’s more imposing one. Having lived in Ferelden’s Circle most of her life, Niamh’s complexion was also much paler, and while sociable enough, she was considerably quieter as well. However, such deep introspection served her artistic skill well, enabling her with a fine eye for detail, which Leliana had been delighted to discover. At the time, it had meant she finally had someone to shop with whenever they visited a new town, as Saoirse had sheepishly admitted she had no sense for fashion, Wynne had been ambivalent at best, and Morrigan—unsurprisingly—had wanted nothing to do with such frivolities. 

At such recollections, Leliana felt the years weighing heavily on her, and she couldn’t stop the sigh that escaped her. In the wake of everything that had occurred, it was easier to return to the past sometimes than deal with the unknown dangers of the present. As Spymaster, it was a luxury she couldn’t afford, but it didn’t stop her from yearning for those simpler times, where she had been happy and free even if just for a short while in her life…

“Leliana?” The lethargic voice drew her attention to the head of the bed where sleepy, half-lidded eyes were watching her. Leliana mustered up a small smile, relief filling her.

“Awake now, I see. Are you alright?” She watched as Niamh swallowed uncomfortably a few times, her mouth likely dry from all the time she had lain abed. 

“Been better certainly,” she rasped, wincing at the sound of her own voice but continued on. “I don’t suppose you tracked down the herd of druffalo that stampeded over me?”

“I’m afraid not.” Leliana felt a wan smile playing on her lips at hearing Niamh’s familiar humor; it meant she was well on her way to recovery. She reached over to the nearby pitcher on the bedside table to pour the woman some water. “Here.” She began helping Niamh into more of an elevated position. While she had taken care to be mindful of her injuries, Leliana had still caught the grimace out of the corner of her eye, but the mage had said nothing else of her pain. “Slowly,” she instructed, bringing the cup to Niamh’s mouth, and she watched her weakly drain the contents of the cup before gently laying her back down again. “Now rest. We’ll need that strength in the days to come.”

“I take it we felled the dragon then?”

The unexpected question gave her pause, and she turned her head sharply to Niamh. “What?” 

“The dragon at the temple.” Grey eyes blinked languidly at her. She canted her head, brows drawing together with concern when Leliana continued to say nothing in response. “Did we not kill it?” 

Leliana indeed remembered the dragon they had slain together, but it had occurred a full decade prior. That the incident seemed to be the last thing Niamh recalled at all, however, was terribly worrying. 

Frowning, she grabbed the candle holder and brought it forward to shine its flame near the other woman’s eyes. Niamh was bewildered at such attention, but the tension in Leliana's shoulders relaxed when she saw both pupils dilate at the same time upon being exposed to the light. _Good. Not a head injury then._

It did leave her to wonder if this was just simple memory loss or a side effect of the Breach. Neither options were reassuring, and it was certainly worth mentioning to Adan when she next saw him. Perhaps Solas would have some insight to give as well if Niamh's current behavior was a reaction of the Mark to the Fade. Leliana had been so lost in her thoughts that she had barely managed to keep herself from flinching when she saw the hand reaching out toward her. 

[“Has your hair always been so long?”](https://morganaseren.tumblr.com/post/622904168878931969) Niamh asked with quiet, confused wonder, grazing the back of a finger against long, red tresses, and the touch was so delicate that Leliana could barely feel the drag of a fingernail along a lone strand. With the exception of perhaps Josie, she had grown ill-used to having anyone touch her with such familiarity, but when Niamh began to gently pull down her cowl, she firmly reached out with a gloved hand to remove Niamh’s own and settle it back against the bed covers.

“Yes," she replied with a tight smile. "It has been for quite some time.” 

Her voice was hollow with her admission. She hadn’t kept her hair short since she was last in Ferelden, but even then, she had done so as a ruse to keep Marjolaine from finding her. Following the end of The Blight, however, she had found little need to keep up such appearances anymore—not when the loving hand of Saoirse was no longer there to appreciate the sight and feel of it. 

“Has it?” Niamh questioned before emitting a thoughtful hum. “I suppose Morrigan hadn’t been exaggerating about the strength of the concoction she brewed for my pain.” 

“I suppose not,” Leliana offered distractedly. She began to rise, wondering if perhaps Adan was still awake to tend to Niamh, but before she could even move away from the bed, she felt a small tug at the end of her hauberk. Her gaze fell to where Niamh was looking back at her with tired eyes. 

“Would you sing something for me?”

She sighed, disapproval sitting at the edge of her tongue. There were still many reports awaiting her orders back in her quarters, and she closed her eyes at the mere thought. “Niamh, it’s late.” 

“Please? Just until I fall back asleep?” she pleaded, her smile turning a touch sad and wistful. “I know you’re on watch tonight with Saoirse. I promise I won’t keep you longer than necessary. I just…” She shifted gingerly onto her side, but even that meager effort seemed too much as Niamh exhaled sharply with a pinched expression. “I need something else to focus on other than the pain. Morrigan said it was dangerous to take more than the recommended amount of the potion she made.”

It seemed a simple enough request, but it would have been better given to the woman Leliana was ten years ago, who still believed in the worth and goodness of others. Since then, she had mired herself in the world of deceit and deadly intrigue for the sake of a world long blind to such dangers, but with each new secret unveiled, she had sunk further into that darkness until light was but a distant memory. 

It was necessary, she had told herself, for she couldn’t abide a world where sacrifices like Saoirse’s could be left in vain. However, with her death, Leliana’s reason for song and sunlight had long left her, leaving her only with an aching void in place of a heart and a fathomless sea of what-ifs and what-could-have-beens. 

“Leliana?” 

And now Divine Justinia was gone. 

The Maker had taken everything from her, and for that, how was she to still believe He could be benevolent? What god would allow such tragedy to happen without recourse? 

_They sought the best for your world, so why is it that you would let them die than allow them to further safeguard its peace?_ Her eyes drifted over to Niamh, who seemed to be growing more concerned with her silence by the second. _Is this what you would have her do as well? To have her right wrongs in your name and then cast her aside? Isn’t that why you refused to save your Bride?_

“Are you alright? Leliana?” She could hear the distress in Niamh’s voice. “Was it something I said?” Despite her many pains, the woman seemed determined to rise into a sitting position to tend to whatever injury she had unknowingly inflicted upon Leliana. It was only her calming hands that kept the mage from harming herself further. “Leli—”

“Shh.”

“But—" 

“I will sing to you but only if you will rest,” she informed her, brow raising as if daring her to argue. To her satisfaction, Leliana watched as Niamh frowned but settled back against the bed obediently. The watchful, ghostly grey eyes—a shade paler than her beloved’s own—sent a quiet pang through her heart, but she hid it behind a smile as she settled the blankets back over Niamh. “Sleep would come to you more easily if you were to close your eyes,” she quipped with what she hoped was convincing humor.

Niamh tensed as if ready to argue, but Leliana merely raised her brow again, and the other woman fell begrudgingly silent before finally closing her eyes as instructed. 

As Leliana sat back in her chair, she drummed her fingers soundlessly against her thigh in thought. Despite her promise, no songs came easily to her tongue anymore. It had been so long, but as she closed her eyes, she began focusing intently on old memories of echoing laughter, a lover’s touch, and the murmured affections that had once convinced her happiness hadn’t been so far out of her reach.

[Her words took flight, and her voice soon reverberated throughout the cabin as if her gift of song had never left her.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vyn8gAYtNu4)

For with Saoirse, anything had been possible.

Until it hadn’t, and her world had consequently shattered upon that realization. 

As a bard, she knew the tragic tales of heroes as well as she knew the songs of love. Still, Leliana had dared hope Saoirse’s own legend would continue on with her than end so very abruptly. Their love was still a fresh one, established after months of mutual pining, and it had been one she desired to see bear fruit for years to come.

But _that_ —like so much in her life—simply wasn’t meant to be.

As she stood at the edge of Saoirse’s pyre, watching the flames whisk her beloved away into the Maker’s embrace, she had sung this very song with just as much painful longing. The desire to be with her lover again was never far from her thoughts, but her duties to the world were not yet done. It couldn’t be—not until she was released.

Still, she couldn’t help but wonder if she could do this again. How many more pyres would she have to watch burn? To watch as another of her friends died? Saoirse, Wynne, and Justinia were gone. Would Niamh then be next?

The thought didn’t settle well with her, and her song ended in a rougher chord than she had intended, but it had served its purpose. Niamh had returned to sleeping peacefully, and Leliana was relieved for it as she settled the covers more firmly around her.

“Maybe it would have best if you had continued to stay away,” she whispered. “Now we’re both drawn to a course with an end that only the Maker himself can foresee.” But she couldn't leave her friend to mere fate, not when He had proven so callous to it. Her jaw tightened with darkened resolve as she rose from the chair and swept herself out of the cabin.

_So be it._

She nodded in acknowledgement to Charter, who had returned to her post, but she didn’t stay to make conversation again. The mask of the Spymaster had already fallen around her like a veil, and so Leliana’s mind was hard at work, making plans to have her agents scattered to the winds again. 

With her network, she would uncover every lie and every scheming plot. If there were to be enemies of the Inquisition in the days to come, they would be found and dealt with, but they would not come to hurt her friend. 

_You will have enough to deal with as you settle into your new role,_ she thought as she returned to the chantry. _And so I will carry your burden in this._

For the fate that befell her beloved and that of Divine Justinia? 

Leliana wouldn’t let it happen again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've any questions, you're welcome to leave them down below or hit me up on [Tumblr.](https://morganaseren.tumblr.com)
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated! If you've already left kudos here, then even just a simple note telling me you're still reading this is enough honestly!


	7. We've Built This Town on Shaky Ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Niamh wakes up from her ordeal and wishes she hadn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A slight longer chapter for you all to enjoy since I needed to get Niamh's meeting with the War Council out of the way to set up some other scenes later on. I'm obviously taking a couple liberties with some canon scenes to keep with the story's pacing.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

A green void that shattered and regrew like living crystals.

A demon that offered only death.

A blinding light.

The white-hot agony along her back as she was swept aside.

And a song, while melancholy, that was a soothing balm against her pain.

 _Singing… Why do I remember someone singing?_ she thought blearily. 

Her eyelids were heavy with fatigue, and it was with great effort that she was able to open them at all, finding unfamiliar surroundings. A cabin, it seemed. She could feel a perpetual warmth permeating throughout it from the nearby hearth, causing its flames to cast erratic shadows along the walls. As she followed them in their dance, she found an open window, where the distant scattering of voices entered.

Niamh grimaced, not at all looking forward to whatever crowd awaited her outside, but as far as prisons went, she supposed she could have done far worse than her current one. _At least waking up wasn’t nearly as traumatic this time,_ she thought idly, turning her head at the sound of the opening door.

A young elf woman entered with a small box of healing items, looking about the cabin with an expression of giddy reverence, which seemed strange. It was only when her gaze turned toward the bed and met Niamh’s that the woman’s features shifted to one of fear. A sense of unease began to knot in Niamh’s stomach. _Oh, here we go…_

“Oh!” The box dropped from the woman’s hands with a resounding clatter. “I didn’t know you were awake, I swear!”

Niamh sat up in an attempt to reassure her—that despite her being a prisoner, she had no intention of hurting anyone—but the very moment she was upright, she instantly regretted it. The sudden wave of nausea that washed over her was overwhelming, and she groaned, nearly doubling over before she caught herself with a hand on the sheets.

“S-should I fetch the apothecary?!”

“No, please.” She pinched the bridge of her nose with a grimace to keep her vision from swimming. How long had she been asleep for her vertigo to have been this terrible? “It will pass. I’m more in need of answers than anything else right now.” The sound of rustling had Niamh reluctantly opening her eyes again just in time to see the elf drop to her knees, much to her bemusement and concern. The other woman’s forehead was nearly touching the ground with her prostration. 

“I beg your forgiveness and your blessing! I am but a humble servant, and so I will my best to serve you,” she swore solemnly. 

“‘Serve me?’” Niamh parroted, frowning. “Whatever for?” When had becoming a prisoner somehow warranted an elven servant to do her bidding? The thought of such a practice didn’t settle well with her, knowing full well the type of discrimination elves already faced. “Where am I for that matter?”

“You’re back in Haven, my lady,” the woman replied, raising her head, but with wide eyes, she soon averted her gaze with a reddening flush that nearly reached the tip of her ears. 

Confused, Niamh looked down and saw the reason for such a reaction. 

The comforter she had been resting under had fallen down to her waist earlier, revealing the multitude of bandages covering her upper body and little else. Physical modesty had never been a particular strong point of hers, especially with much of her adult years spent overseas. To ease the other woman’s plight, however, she reached down toward the foot of the bed to retrieve a light-furred throw blanket, which she proceeded to drape over her shoulders. She couldn’t hide her wince mid-motion as the muscles along her back were summarily tested. 

That was going to be a bother for at least the next few days. 

“They say you saved us,” her guest continued, relief evident in her voice now although her blush had yet to fade. “The Breach stopped growing just like the Mark on your hand. It’s all anyone’s talked about for the last three days!”

Niamh’s brows rose toward her hairline. [“The people that tried to have me stoned to death the moment I left the dungeons?”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4-1CILU2lrY) she asked incredulously. “You’re saying they’re actually pleased with me?”

The woman paled, as if fearing she had somehow offended her, and pressed her head to the floor again in contrition. “I-I’m only saying what I heard! I didn’t mean anything by it!” She gasped then, rising to her feet and quickly making her way back toward the door. “I’m sure Lady Cassandra would want to know you’ve wakened. She said, ‘At once.’”

 _Cassandra…_ She mulled over the name curiously before realization dawned on her with the memory of a glinting blade and a seemingly permanent scowl. “Ah, yes. The not quite Templar,” she surmised dryly. “Where might she be now exactly?”

“In the chantry with the Lord Chancellor. ‘At once,’ she said!”

Niamh sighed once she was left alone, brushing a hand across the fur along her shoulders. She would have preferred to stay in bed, soaking in the warmth and comfort the cabin had to offer. It seemed a far better alternative than whatever awaited her outside. While her wayward guest said the people of Haven had somehow developed a change of heart in regards to her, she couldn’t help but have her misgivings. _A sudden, unwarranted attempt at execution has a way of making people leery certainly,_ she thought with a roll of her eyes before carefully sliding her legs over the side of the bed to test her balance. 

“But I suppose there’s no time like the present to investigate this.”

* * *

To say she was ill at ease was an understatement.

It was the silence that unnerved her the most, for the moment she left the cabin, the steady drone of voices she had heard throughout her morning preparations suddenly hushed themselves. As far as her eyes could see, soldiers, refugees, and men and women of the Chantry alike lined the perimeter of Haven, standing stiffly at attention and watching her with what appeared to be bated breath. 

Given the atmosphere when she was last in the village, everything immediately had her on edge. Every shift in the crowd, every clang of armor, made her second-guess their intent, wondering if she was going to receive another rock to her head or simply a sword through her back. When she was finally convinced that they were merely content to watch her, she gave them all wide berth as she set herself on the path toward the chantry. 

“That’s her,” she heard a voice whisper nearly beyond the edge of her hearing. “That’s the Herald of Andraste.”

 _The_ **what** _?_ Already, she regretted not staying in the cabin. Niamh had hoped she’d simply misheard, but as conversation drifted back in amongst the crowd, she realized it had been a futile wish. 

“They say that when she came out of the Fade, Andraste herself was watching over her!”

“Hush!” another voice rushed to whisper. “We shouldn’t disturb her.”

“But why did Lady Cassandra have her in chains? I thought Seekers knew everything.”

“It’s complicated,” a woman murmured. “We were all frightened after the explosion at The Conclave…”

 _And that was enough reason for you all to want my death,_ she thought unkindly although she was careful to keep her expression as neutral as possible. 

Niamh nodded woodenly at their effusive greetings and praises but offered nothing of her own in return. She couldn’t risk a single misstep—verbal or otherwise—amidst such a heavy throng of people. She was hardly in any condition to fight again after her last battle. Although they knew she was a mage, they thankfully didn’t seem to care as much anymore even as she openly brandished her staff. Granted, it was being used as more of a walking stick as there was a lingering stiffness along her left leg, which she had discovered that morning. It would likely need to be looked at later along with her other injuries. 

Not that she relished the idea of recuperating in Ferelden’s infamous Frostbacks. 

The mountain range was notorious for its exceedingly cold weather throughout the year. As such, Niamh had been grateful her coat survived her last ordeal. Personally-crafted from the hide and fur of a Great Bear, it was a boon against the harsh elements, retaining warmth even without the use of her magic. Because of its thick material, however, she found that she couldn’t slip into it easily with her injuries. Her back had already spasmed terribly when she had pulled on a looser, button-down tunic she found in a clothes chest earlier, and so she had resorted to simply draping the coat over her shoulders. 

_Now where in the world is—ah._

As she rounded the corner of a building, she caught sight of the village’s chantry along with a curious scene of Cassandra arguing outside it with Roderick. Whatever their disagreement, it seemed that the Chancellor hadn’t taken kindly to its end, and he promptly stalked off, absolute mistrust in his eyes as he strode past Niamh with a pair of Templars in full regalia.

“Lady Cousland.”

“Seeker,” Niamh greeted, smothering a small smile when she seemed to have taken Cassandra by surprise.

“You know of my title?”

“I managed to catch up on a few things,” she replied, jerking her head pointedly over her shoulder at the crowd. “As I didn’t wake in chains again this time and no one has outright called for my execution, I take it you all no longer believe me to be a suspect in the late Divine’s death?” she asked wryly.

Cassandra seemed decidedly uncomfortable as she shifted her boots in the snow. “There was no doubt Divine Justinia called out to you for help, and you were seen trying to aid her—strange as that vision was.”

“And this Herald of Andraste business... Was that your doing?”

“You recall that Leliana and I weren’t the only ones at the Breach with you, yes? Our soldiers and scouts were able to see firsthand what you were capable of. You achieved what no one else had in all the time the rifts have been present in our world. For them, that is proof enough of your divinity.”

“ _My divini—_ ” Niamh closed her eyes, using every last ounce of willpower to keep herself from raising her voice despite the incredulity she felt. She was already under enough scrutiny from the people of Haven. “You do realize I’m a mage, yes? That should be evidence enough I’m not chosen. After all, what is it that you people constantly preach in regards to us? ‘Magic exists to serve man, not rule over him?’” she quoted, voice thick with sarcasm. 

“I have not forgotten,” Cassandra returned just as dryly before sighing, looking to her earnestly. “No matter what you are, or what you believe, you were exactly what we needed when we needed it.” Dark eyes turned to study the Mark on Niamh’s hand. “And I fear we need you still. The Breach was stabilized thanks to your efforts, but it is not yet sealed. There is a chance it could wreak havoc again unless we act.”

“What?” Her brows furrowed at the implication. “I expended everything I had the first time and nearly died for it! You’re saying it hasn’t even so much as closed itself?”

“I’m afraid so,” she confirmed grimly. “So long as it remains, this affects not only Ferelden but the entirety of Thedas. As the respective Left and Right Hands of Divine Justinia, Leliana and I declared the Inquisition’s rebirth to stop the threat.”

“The Inquisition…” Niamh repeated, eyes lidding briefly to turn her thoughts inward. The significance of the name certainly seemed familiar. “Ah, yes. It preceded the Chantry, didn't it? It was originally established as a means to restore order in a world lost to chaos. Your last Inquisitor was a man named Ameridan back during the age of Emperor Kordillus Drakon’s reign if I recall correctly.”

Cassandra blinked owlishly at her several times before the corner of her mouth curled up in spite of herself, impressed. “You’re well-read.”

Niamh shrugged. “I had a great deal of time on my hands when I was once part of Ferelden’s Circle, and then I had the chance to freely seek knowledge elsewhere once I left after The Blight. In any case,” she mused idly, turning her gaze to the path Roderick had retreated on, “it seems you’ve already lost support of the Chantry.”

The other woman couldn’t hide her grimace even as she agreed reluctantly. “It seems we have, yes…”

Niamh tilted her head, looking askance at her. “You do realize from a statistical point of view you’re already in a considerably weakened position? From what I can see, you’ve no leader, no allies, no internal numbers with which to handle the threat, and yet you’re asking me to help start a holy war against the Chantry?”

“I’m well-aware that as we are now, we are ill-equipped to handle the burden ahead of us, but we are _already_ at war,” she growled with a noise between disgust and utter frustration. “So long as the Breach is still present in our world, we do not have the luxury of standing idly by while the clerics toil behind closed doors and the people they have sworn to protect suffer from their inaction.” The tension along the Seeker’s shoulders relaxed only by mere fractions as she looked to her worriedly. “I know we are already asking so much of you and that our path forward will not be an easy one, but you cannot pretend that this has not changed you. Please,” she implored deeply, offering her hand in truce, “help us fix this before it’s too late.”

Niamh stared silently at the proffered limb for several heartbeats, knowing full well the ramifications were she to accept it. The tactician in her railed against what would likely be a lost cause, but the part of her that still honored her sister’s memory knew she couldn’t simply walk away. 

_”Were I to ignore someone in obvious suffering when I knew full well I could have done something to prevent it, I feel that says something about me as an individual, and I would rather not have that weight on my conscience.”_

Niamh stifled a wan laugh. _It suits that you’re still capable of reprimanding me even in death…_ She turned her gaze back to the Seeker, who seemed to be second-guessing herself with her continued silence, but before she could awkwardly withdraw her hand, Niamh reached out to firmly clasp her forearm.

“I suppose I always did like a challenge.” She offered her a small smile. “Very well, Seeker. Lead the way.”

Dark eyes lit up with relief, and she clasped her hand more solidly with the other, shaking it gratefully. “Good. Please, this way,” she said before gently directing her toward the chantry. “If you are to work with us, then it would behoove you to meet the rest of our War Council.”

* * *

“So she’s awake then?” Leliana clarified, ignoring the sound of sudden spluttering behind her as Cullen had likely choked on his tea with the news. 

Upon their return to Haven following the initial sealing of the Breach, she and Cassandra had informed him of the identity of their would-be savior. She remembered watching as his already exhausted pallor shifted to one of stark white terror. Given the shared history between him and Niamh during their days in Kinloch Hold and what had been said when they last parted, the man had been a nervous wreck ever since. 

“Yes, Sister!” the elf confirmed, nodding eagerly. “I’ve already informed Lady Cassandra, but she was arguing outside with Chancellor Roderick, so she asked me to come tell you as well.”

“I see. Thank you.”

Beaming, the messenger left the room, and Leliana returned her attention to her colleagues. Josie was busy fussing over Cullen, worriedly wondering aloud if perhaps her latest batch of tea had been too strong for him, but the Commander only waved off her concerns between bouts of coughing.

While it seemed he’d been able to get his breathing under control, his nerves were still considerably frayed. As he returned to his place at the War Table, he fidgeted with his mug between eying the door every few moments, but as she had expected, his antics nearly caused him to upend his drink entirely over their expansive map, much to her amusement. Cursing beneath his breath, he soon abandoned the mug to the wayside before resolving to keeping his hands still by resting them on the hilt and pommel of his sword, clearing his throat with an awkward cough while studiously ignoring both of them. 

Josie looked at him curiously, but when she turned her gaze to her, Leliana merely shook her head with a roll of her eyes. Her friend’s displeasure was obvious in the furrowing of her brows, but the ambassador soon returned her attention back to her board with quick, fluid strokes of her pen, likely jotting down ideas to make the latest addition to their Council feel more welcome.

It would be a blessing, considering how Leliana expected the meeting to go...

“And here is our War Room.” All heads within turned as the doors were pushed open by Cassandra, who led Niamh in. The other woman seemed to be taking in their surroundings with practiced ease, which Leliana knew from their travels together was her way of gauging all possible exits within a room along with any items that could be turned into an impromptu weapon were she to be disarmed. “May I present Commander—"

“Cullen?” 

The hands Leliana held behind her back clenched in sympathy when she saw the exact moment her friend’s pale eyes had widened upon seeing their Commander. Surprise soon fell away to old hurt as parted lips closed themselves and then thinned, allowing a slow indifference to cascade over her features. What words Cullen may have had—whether a simple hello or a long overdue apology—soon faltered and faded as storm grey eyes averted themselves from him in reproach. He shifted uncomfortably in place with a muted clanking of armor before simply dropping his gaze, resigning himself to silence.

Leliana merely shook her head in the corner.

This wasn’t going well at all. With the addition of Cassandra, Niamh was already putting up a front to half their War Council. Josie’s introduction had at least fared better, and Niamh had been polite to her even if distantly so. The mage likely didn't know what to make of their ambassador thus far but had seen no need to be rude to her thankfully. _No,_ she mused. _You tend to withhold judgment unless given evidence otherwise to do so._

Her reaction to Cullen was proof enough of that.

“And of course you already know Sister Leliana.”

At her own introduction, she bowed her head briefly to Niamh, who nodded in acknowledgement. “My position here requires a degree of—”

“She is our Spymaster,” Cassandra continued on, unheeded, much to Leliana’s irritation.

Niamh, for her part, merely blinked at the revelation, but she didn’t seem particularly surprised. Grey eyes darted between her and the Seeker, but when they stopped to rest on her again, brow arched in question, Leliana found the familiarity between them was still evident despite their years apart. _No tact at all with this one, hm?_ that gaze asked. 

Leliana’s shoulders rolled in a subtle shrug. _None whatsoever. More’s the pity, no?_ Her blue eyes turned to her counterpart with a blank stare. “Yes. Tactfully put as always, Cassandra…” she replied airily much to the other woman’s confusion. 

The fur and leather spaulders atop Niamh’s shoulders shook with silent laughter, but her smile was more visible and relaxed as her attention was turned to Josie, who drew her deeper into conversation regarding their situation. 

Leliana was heartened her friend seemed more lucid than she had last night. Despite the stiffness she had noted in Niamh’s gait when she had first walked in, she hadn’t noticed anything else amiss. There had been no notable confusion in those pale eyes beyond perhaps her sudden appointment as Herald, which she seemed less than enthused about as Josie relayed public opinion over the matter. It gave Leliana confidence that perhaps the memory loss she had seen last night was temporary. 

It was one less thing to worry about—at least until it came time to discuss the best course of action to seal the Breach. She had already offered her opinion to seek out the rebel mages for aid, which Cullen—unsurprisingly—disagreed with.

“The Templars could serve just as well.”

“Oh?” Niamh intoned, crossing her arms as she leveled a cool, half-lidded stare at him. “And what would you have them do? Wave their swords about in a circle with a rallying cry at the Breach?”

Leliana turned her head away to smother a laugh.

Despite his nerves earlier against Niamh, Cullen bristled in indignation. “ _I_ was a Templar! I know what they’re capable of!”

“As do I, or had you forgotten when we last met?” she asked with such quiet solemnity that Cullen paled and dropped his gaze again, hands fidgeting with the hilt of his sword. Eerily-calm eyes turned to the rest of them. “The Breach itself is magical in nature; I’ve felt its effects.” She raised her Marked hand in response, letting its light waver before them briefly. “As such, who better than mages to use its force to seal it?”

“In any case,” Josie began hesitantly, trying to calm the tension in the room, “approaching either group is out the question. None of them are willing to even speak with us as of yet.”

“I don’t suppose that has anything to do with my sudden…” Niamh grimaced. “…appointment?”

Josie nodded reluctantly. “Among other things, yes. Beyond the many that still think you guilty of the Breach’s creation, the Chantry has openly denounced the Inquisition and you specifically. They refuse to acknowledge the Herald of Andraste could possibly be a mage.”

Niamh dragged a few knuckles along her jawline in thought, frowning. “Little surprise there, but they’re still ignoring the actual threat. I’m more concerned we don’t have any immediate allies to aid us. The Breach won’t remain calm forever, and my first encounter with it already proved I couldn’t seal it alone.”

“While our options are limited for now, there _is_ something you can do for the time being,” Leliana offered, and she waited until Niamh’s eyes were on her to continue. “A Chantry cleric by the name of Mother Giselle has asked to speak with you. She is not far from here, likely still tending to the wounded out in The Hinterlands, and she knows those involved far better than I.”

Niamh tilted her head, humming thoughtfully. “And you believe her assistance would prove invaluable to us then?” Her question was phrased more as a statement, mulling over the fact aloud than truly asking for further inquiry. 

Still, Leliana nodded. “That, I do.” 

“You mentioned there were wounded?”

“Yes,” she admitted with a sigh. “After the explosion at The Conclave, the situation between the mages and Templars deteriorated. Now we have rogue groups of both meandering throughout the area, fighting one another with little care as to who gets caught in the crossfire.” Leliana walked forward to comb through a few of her reports on the table. “I’ve agents covertly watching Mother Giselle, so she will be safe until you’re ready to meet with her.”

“If there’s that much conflict, we should take a small party with us.” Niamh glanced over to Cassandra, who nodded approvingly, likely pleased they were being proactive now after days of utter standstill and indecision. 

“Yes, I can have Solas and Varric ready to leave with us.”

Niamh glanced around the room. “And will the village be safe while we’re away? If there’s infighting in The Hinterlands, I can’t say I’d be comfortable leaving Haven undefended.”

“You needn’t worry, Your Worship,” Josie reassured, making a few notes on her parchment board, thereby missing the wince Leliana saw cross Niamh’s features upon hearing the title. “We’ve still a number of soldiers with us along with several volunteers who joined after they heard of your exploits. We need only tell them—”

“I’ll see to it!” Cullen announced suddenly, startling them all as he broke his long-held silence before proceeding to all but flee from the room, carefully keeping his eyes away from Niamh. 

“I—” Josie seemed a tad flustered at the sudden departure. “Well. Yes. I suppose the Commander has that covered now.”

“Then I’ll see to our preparations to The Hinterlands,” Cassandra said before turning to Niamh. “Please meet us at the main gate when you’re ready.” At the woman’s nod, she soon took her leave but at a considerably more dignified pace. 

“And I’ll see if I can’t expand our influence while we’re out there,” Niamh announced. “Granted, it might not immediately help with the Breach’s sealing, but some positive exposure could only do us some good at this point. If nothing else, we’d be able to gain some new recruits willing to aid our cause.”

“An inspired idea, Your Worship! Oh! And before you go,” she began, delaying Niamh’s departure, “we were actually in a meeting with a visiting dignitary prior to your arrival. He was quite insistent on meeting you.”

Dark brows drew together. “Truly? Even with the Chantry spouting blasphemy about us already, he isn’t hesitant about the idea of speaking with me?”

The ambassador offered only a reassuring smile. “I promise you, this will be a meeting well-worth attending, but he did mention you could visit him at your earliest convenience. He didn’t wish to trouble you more than necessary if you were busy.”

Grey eyes drifted to Leliana in question, but as she knew the identity of the dignitary in question, she merely smiled in turn, which seemed answer enough for Niamh.

“Very well. I had wanted to see the healer here for some items first though.” She gently waved off the ambassador’s vocal concerns regarding her health with a smile. “In any case, could you please send a messenger to inform our guest about meeting me in my cabin? I’ll try not to keep him waiting too long.”

"Of course!" Josie beamed, extraordinarily pleased Niamh seemed to be taking the matter seriously. She dealt with it so rarely with Cassandra and Cullen after all. They often wanted nothing to do with politicians, and it was often left to Josie to deal with any perceived offense. 

“And Lady Ambassador?” 

“Yes, Your Worship?”

Niamh’s eyes pinched a bit at their corners. “I realize you’ll have to refer to me as the Herald of Andraste when corresponding with other dignitaries, but if it wouldn’t be too much of an inconvenience, could you please call me by my name outside of official duties? Or simply Lady Cousland if it would be easier for you?”

“Oh! My apologies!” She ducked her head in acknowledgement, smiling. “Of course, my lady. I would be glad to.”

Niamh nodded gratefully, more at ease. 

“And regarding Cullen,” Leliana spoke up hesitantly, “I’m sure seeing him again was quite the shock. I’m sorry I couldn’t have informed you sooner. We only received word you woke up not too long ago.” 

“Ah.” Niamh slowly rotated her staff in her grip, causing its blunt end to quietly grate across the stone floor with the motion. It was one of her nervous tics, Leliana knew. “No need to worry yourself over it,” she replied graciously. “Considering I’ve been unconscious for the past few days, I can’t see how you would have been able to inform me of anything.”

“True. I am glad you seem to be feeling better.”

Niamh chuckled quietly. “It’s nothing worse than what I suffered during my drinking benders in Rivain.”

“I see.” Leliana arched a brow but made no further comment to that point. “Well, I’m glad you also seem to be in better spirits. You had me concerned last night.”

Grey eyes blinked curiously. “Oh… Did you visit me last night?”

“You don’t remember?”

Niamh rubbed the back of her neck with a mild frown. “I honestly can’t recall much of anything beyond that battle with the demon and this morning.”

“Hm,” Leliana hummed, recalling the hand that reached out to touch her with such open, curious affection. “Such a shame. You were so bold too,” she simpered with seeming disappointment. She hid a faint smile as Niamh nearly choked on her next breath, pale eyes comically widening at her words.

“I... What…?” Her mouth opened and closed several times as she struggled to find her words. Leliana could see the panic in her friend's eyes as she tried to recall anything from last evening, but it was a futile effort, and the other woman swallowed audibly. “Did... did I say or do anything strange last night?”

“Hm. I wonder.” Her own crypticness regarding the matter only allowed Niamh to stew fretfully in place. It was so easy to tease her at times, Leliana thought with amusement. It had been one of her favorite past times, but she soon admonished herself, letting her expression smooth. There was still work to be done after all. “In any case, between _that_ and the stunt you pulled off at the Breach, you owe me, oh…” Her gaze turned briefly to the ceiling in thought. “Let’s say a dozen arrows. That seems payment enough, no?”

Niamh nodded slowly, gripping her staff tightly in both hands now, as if it was the only thing holding her up. “I… I see. I’ll…” She coughed politely into her fist, averting her eyes with what seemed like a growing blush. “I’ll get to that when I can. Please excuse me.” She ducked her head and proceeded to slink away from Leliana as fast as humanly possible. 

“Oh, honestly, Leliana!” exclaimed Josie once they were alone, gently smacking her shoulder with the back of her hand. “Really, you shouldn’t tease her so! She’s been through enough!”

Leliana merely laughed, shifting her body to hide herself from further abuse. “I couldn’t help myself! I merely wanted to see if I could or not. She’s been so serious since she came in here.”

Josie seemed distinctly unimpressed if her expression was any indication. She sighed then, leaving her be. “Well, were it not for your antics, I would’ve said her mask could rival that of any player in Orlais." That was high praise from Josie, and she couldn't help but agree. "She seems rather competent. She took charge of the situation quite well, yes?”

Leliana nodded, turning her attention to her reports. “Niamh’s always been exceedingly clever.”

“You didn’t mention visiting her last night. Was everything alright? The healer did say she was recovering well, didn’t he?”

“Yes, yes. It was nothing serious, Josie,” she reassured with a smile. “She was a little out of sorts is all.”

As she looked through her latest missive, she found a message written there in a code that only she and a few select agents knew. Her humor was soon forgotten as she deciphered its meaning:

Leliana had a traitor within her network.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've any questions, you're welcome to leave them down below or hit me up on [Tumblr.](https://morganaseren.tumblr.com)
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated! If you've already left kudos here, then even just a simple note telling me you're still reading this is enough honestly!


	8. Hear the Reveling Wolves Inside You Howling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leliana reminisces, and Niamh comes face to face with yet another person from her past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought I'd spoil you guys with another chapter this week since you've been so amazing with your feedback so far!
> 
> This chapter is meant to give you more of a glimpse into who Niamh is as a person, but I do hope you enjoy it! I do promise more Niamh/Leliana interactions in the next few chapters though!

“Oh, the meeting was a disaster!” Josie cried as she wrung her hands fretfully.

“It was fine, Josie,” Leliana insisted, trying to reassure her friend even as she watched her pace restlessly behind her desk. 

They had returned to the ambassador’s office at Josie’s request. 

The other woman had known something was wrong although not necessarily the specifics of her current dilemma. She had likely seen her drawn face and had grown worried with her sudden silence in the War Room. Although Leliana had tried to wave off her concerns, Josie had been insistent, offering an early “interlude,” which—despite the seemingly lofty name—was in actuality one of her friend’s quaint tea parties. She had made the rare mistake in pointing it out once and had been firmly corrected in prim fashion.

_“These interludes are for us to connect as colleagues and friends lest we lose sight of our goals in the days to come.”_

Not wanting her friend's feelings to be hurt by continually refusing, Leliana had reluctantly agreed but not before she’d been able to summon Charter, handing her a note filled with a series of coded instructions. It would take some time yet before she received the evidence she needed, and while there were several contingencies she’d need to take into consideration regarding them, she supposed it was better to table such thoughts for the time being. 

A clear head made for clearer decisions.

“Niamh already has considerable history with two of us, and her initial introduction to Cassandra was rather…” The corners of Leliana’s mouth twisted unpleasantly. “…much.” 

Not that Leliana hadn’t been equally incensed to learn that Divine Justinia had died along with everyone in attendance at The Conclave. In the aftermath of that realization, she had been so ready to sink the tools of her trade into the one who’d dare commit such treachery. She had sworn that death would be a blessing when she was finally through with them. 

But rather than the faceless, heartless monster she’d expected, she had found Niamh in those dungeons instead, bound, weary, and already at the mercy of her captors.

In that instance, Leliana had known—even after so long apart from one another—that Niamh couldn’t have done the things everyone had already assumed of her. It had been apparent when she questioned her. While the mage had been willing to wall herself behind her cool façade with the others and endure their abuse—she had seemingly resigned herself to such a fate—those mist-grey eyes had been nothing but open and honest with her. 

As a bard and Spymaster, Leliana knew all the tics and tells of a consummate liar, but she saw none of those in Niamh. In her pained, exhausted gaze was just a simple hope that she’d finally be believed. 

…or that her death would at least be a merciful one. 

And that realization had stilled Leliana to her core. 

If the suspect had been anyone else but Niamh, would she truly have been that cruel? Even without evidence to the contrary, would she have proven just as unkind to a stranger as her colleagues had?

When had violence become her initial reaction instead of an afterthought?

“Well, surely we can do something to make her feel more welcome,” Josie said, drawing Leliana out of her disquieting thoughts. The ambassador proceeded to pour freshly-steeped tea—a bold Antivan blend—into two cups for them. “That—at the very least—the burden of the Inquisition will not fall on her alone.”

“I wouldn’t worry so.” She reached out to take the cup and saucer from her friend. Her gloves had been removed for this occasion, resting on the arm of her chair, and she was able to feel the warmth emanating from the fine porcelain. “If anything, I think she’d feel most comfortable around you than anyone else in our Council.”

Josie, after all, was a summer’s ray compared to the bitter steel Leliana felt inside her these days. As an ambassador, she endlessly thought well of others and used polished diplomacy along with pen and parchment to fight her battles instead of deceit and daggers drawn under the cover of night. 

“Oh?” Josie uttered in surprise as she took her seat, her own cup in hand. “Did you not say you were both companions during The Blight?”

“Yes, but it’s been over ten years since I’ve seen her.” Leliana gently blew at the steam rising from her tea before delicately taking a sip, humming in approval as she enjoyed the earthy notes she found within it. “I think Morrigan would have fared a better chance at getting her to open up. Of everyone back then, she was the one Niamh was closest to.”

* * *

_She and Saoirse had been rather surprised that Niamh had managed to secure a friendship with the otherwise distant witch at all. Most of the time it seemed that Morrigan had wanted nothing at all to do with them and often pitched her tent well enough away from everyone else in emphasis of that point._

_But despite her quieter nature, Niamh apparently had a knack for being rather charming._

_“Some of the Templars in the Circle could be more difficult than others,” the mage had offered in explanation when she had asked her of it. “Some of them could be sweet-talked enough if you knew how to appeal to their egos.”_

_“I see.” Then, Leliana had smirked and gently bumped her shoulder against her friend's as they walked back to camp with some firewood. “And are you looking to appeal to hers?”_

_Although such teasing from her had drawn blushes from the mage before, Niamh had merely been amused—as if aware of something Leliana wasn’t—smiling openly. “Not entirely. I genuinely do find her intriguing. She’s such a breath of fresh air compared to any other mage I’ve ever met.” She sighed wistfully. “I bet she’s experienced things I could only ever dream about.”_

_Niamh’s focus as a mage had been elemental magic, but Morrigan’s specialty dealt with more of the arcane—a subject Leliana doubted was allowed within the Circle. As such, she could see how it would been of intense interest to her friend._

_At one time, she had wondered if there had been every been more than simple studying afoot whenever they slipped away into Morrigan’s tent, but it was little business of hers. She and Saoirse were smitten with one another, and Niamh seemed happy with her own course in life, so all was well in Leliana’s small piece of paradise if for the moment._

* * *

“I confess I didn’t even know she had returned to Ferelden until recently,” Leliana admitted ruefully upon coming out of her thoughts. 

Niamh had completely disappeared after the Blight's end, and while she and Zevran had their respect network of contacts with which to cast a search, the woman had proven stubbornly elusive. During those first few years, there had been only a handful of sightings of her abroad, and by the time the locations could be further investigated, Niamh was long gone with no trail left to follow.

When Leliana had been appointed as Left Hand of The Divine, she likely could have used her position to further narrow down Niamh’s whereabouts, but by then, crises were occurring near weekly with threats that needed to be contained. She was endlessly buried in her work, and after a time, she had simply stopped thinking about Niamh entirely. 

“I suppose I assumed that had she wanted to contact any of us, she would have. Given that she didn’t, I took it to mean she wanted to be alone.” She stared into the dark depths of her cup. “Understandable, given what she lost the last time we saw her.” She didn’t need to look up to know that Josie was staring at her with sympathetic eyes.

“Well, you do have more knowledge of her than the rest of us,” Josie offered quietly. “Is there anything we can do to make her feel more comfortable, or—if nothing else—anything she’d find displeasing we should be aware of?”

“Hm. No. She’s never been really one to complain.” It had been an admittedly noticeable trait compared to some of their more eccentric companions back then. As Leliana lifted her cup to her lips again, she blinked, the pleasant scent reminding her of an older memory. “Ah. She does have an aversion to truly awful tea however. We stopped at an inn while traveling to Orzammar once, and while I’m not entirely certain how they managed it, the tea they served there had the aroma of particularly pungent cheese even from a distance.”

Josie was so aghast that she simply placed her tea down with a small clatter before recoiling back in her chair. She pressed a hand to her chest with the most scandalized expression. “Surely, you jest!”

“If only.” She smirked. “While the tea was abysmal, the innkeeper was this lovely old woman who kept refilling Niamh’s cup every time she came by the table. I think Niamh would have felt badly for telling her how terrible it truly was. Nevertheless, it was only after the second cup that she had taken to covertly throwing the contents of it outside the window whenever the innkeeper wasn’t looking.”

Despite herself, Josephine couldn’t help but giggle at the absurdness of the situation. Then, upon realizing she was laughing at another’s misfortune, she gasped, pressing a hand to her mouth with a blush. “Oh, dear…”

“It’s alright, Josie,” she replied blithely. “Niamh herself was laughing over the incident later once we were on the road again. Unless you’ve somehow taken to experimenting with your tea to a degree that would surpass even that inn’s, I doubt you’ll be able to offend her with what you have to offer.”

“Oh, but I’ve only a limited selection with me!” she bemoaned. “We rarely got traders here even before The Conclave.” 

“It’ll be fine. I assure you, even if she _did_ somehow find fault with your tea, Niamh wouldn’t be so crass as to be angry with you—not over such a small matter at any rate.” 

_No. You were never quick to anger, were you?_

And given what the other woman had endured the past few days, she had every reason to be, but Leliana knew—at least back then—Niamh often avoided confrontation when she could help it, often to her own detriment.

Leliana had been furious to hear that their soldiers had been the ones to cast the first stone after Niamh’s mistreatment in the dungeon. The woman hadn’t done anything to retaliate in those instances, and although Cassandra had said the mage had snapped at her following an incident outside the village, the Seeker had also sheepishly admitted it had been entirely her fault.

 _”I’m not going to prove them right,”_ Niamh had once told her when Leliana helped clean a cut above her brow following a fight in a tavern. _“I’m a mage, yes, but I won’t have them see a monster. I’ve no intention of causing more trouble for my sister—not when she has enough to deal with.”_

 _And yet Saoirse never failed to come to your defense because you refused to let yourself be provoked even in the face of such ignorance,_ she thought sadly. 

During their travels, the other woman knew how to hide in plain sight, making herself seem as nonthreatening as possible as a mage, but she had a presence to her when needed. It was eerily tangible, reminiscent to being surrounded by Niamh’s element of choice—hairs at the back of one’s neck standing on end right before a crash of thunder. The strength of it was dependent on her mood. It could be as calm as cleansing rain, or it could devastate—a maelstrom hiding behind the cool grey of her eyes.

And within the past week alone, she had seen evidence within that gaze that she—like Leliana—had hardened herself in order to live, ever escaping a past that continued to haunt her. Perhaps it was a consequence of spending a decade away from anyone she’d ever known, for without friendship—without support—what had the world turned Niamh into?

A part of her didn’t wish to know, but the other? The other simply hurt deeply for her friend.

_You used to smile so much more easily..._

* * *

What had she said to Leliana last night?! Surely, she couldn’t have been so out of mind on pain-numbing potions that she would have revealed anything intimate! 

Despite her words earlier to Leliana, even her most adventurous tavern-hopping excursions around Rivain hadn’t left her with this foggy a memory the following morning. Niamh was certain she would have remembered if Leliana had visited or if she’d done anything that would accounted for her sudden _boldness_ against her. She nearly staggered in place as she considered all that might have encompassed, given her long-held attraction toward the woman. _Far too many things certainly and better off left in The Fade at any rate,_ she lamented. 

There was also the possibility, however, that Leliana had simply said her words in jest, but given the woman’s experience as a bard, Niamh had never been able to tell when she’d been joking. No one had ever teased her so openly before when she’d still been in the Circle. While First Enchanter Irving hadn’t forbade such behavior, he also expected a level of discipline among them lest the Templars argue with him over the notion of lax leadership.

But even she could admit that teasing from one of her colleagues and teasing from Leliana were two different things entirely. Niamh never held so deep-seated an infatuation with anyone than she had with her after all.

It was made all the worse when she realized—even after all these years—her feelings had only grown stronger in the absence of Leliana’s company. The puppy loves of her apprentice years and even her occasional dalliances abroad had paled in comparison to how Leliana could effortlessly turn her head over the simplest things: the gentle twirl of a hand as she spoke, the graceful turns of her body as she shifted soundlessly on her feet, the lilting, dulcet tones of her voice…

_And, Maker, those eyes…_

In all her travels, Niamh had never seen eyes so blue. Were she a weaker woman, she could have fallen into their depths like a moth drawn to flame, utterly hopeless in the face of such beauty. 

But Niamh couldn’t. 

Not now, and certainly not then. 

Not when Leliana still held Saoirse so dear to her heart. 

Niamh sighed deeply. It was times like these that she truly missed Morrigan’s company.

* * *

_In a desperate bid to deny her growing feelings, she had willingly sought out their resident Witch of the Wilds. Not for anything intimate; it had simply been the most logical choice at the time._

_Niamh knew both Leliana and Morrigan had differing ideologies, and so it kept them at odds more often than not. If she joined Morrigan at her campfire, the bard wouldn’t be so rude as to interrupt, and it would provide a reasonable buffer against any teasing—at least for the time being._

_Morrigan—of course—had glanced up immediately upon seeing that her personal space had been trespassed upon. Tawny eyes had narrowed, for save for Saoirse, who often came by to distribute her portion of any given meal, no one had really dared to intrude upon her._

_The witch had told her sister that she needn’t have bothered, as she had her own fire and amenities. She certainly would not starve in their company, but unfailingly, Saoirse would still drop by with a winsome smile, a bit of light conversation, and a bowl of warm food before leaving Morrigan be._

_While the meals had gone untouched at first, after a time—perhaps after Morrigan realized Saoirse had been sincere in her efforts—the bowl was often returned empty and clean alongside all the others, drying by the main campfire come morning._

_Niamh had taken her sister’s role that night—much to Saoirse’s surprise—when she asked to deliver Morrigan supper in her stead. She didn’t question the matter as Niamh had originally feared. If anything, her sibling had seemed to approve of her initiative toward making another possible friend._

_Not that Morrigan had made it easy._

_Although their interactions had started for purely selfish reasons, Niamh couldn’t help but ask about her magic one night. How could she not when Morrigan’s was so very different from her own?_

_The witch had been taciturn to her prodding at first, believing her interest to be another subject in a series of roundabout conversations, for despite her lack of experience amongst other people, Morrigan was remarkably intelligent. She could tell that Niamh was beginning to withdraw further from Leliana’s company the more time she spent with her—not every night certainly but enough for the witch to take notice. Morrigan knew the reason why—silly though it was._

_But when Morrigan had lackadaisically explained the concept behind one of her spells and Niamh had finished her thought—reciting a quote the other woman had told her in brief passing some weeks ago, word for word—the witch had turned to her with muted surprise. Niamh had merely smiled hopefully before continuing on with their conversation, offering her own contribution to it by linking the approach behind the spell’s use to that of another mage theorist’s works._

_Perhaps realizing then her intentions had been truthful, Morrigan had begrudgingly extended an offer to teach her more regarding arcane magic._

_Niamh knew Wynne disapproved of such lessons and would likely report it back to First Enchanter Irving when they both returned to the Circle, but what was the harm? Why not use all the knowledge at her disposal, especially if it could aid them in their quest?_

_After a time, Niamh realized belatedly their interactions together—while purely scholarly—could have been misconstrued, and it was proven when Leliana had gently teased them, having noticed that they had both slipped away into Morrigan’s tent one night._

_Morrigan—for her part—had dealt with such behavior with her usual magnanimity, which meant she’d told the bard in no uncertain terms that whatever they did in privacy was little concern of hers. Leliana had simply smiled and raised her hands in surrender before returning to Saoirse’s side to begin the night’s watch._

_Niamh had apologized for the incident later—especially once it became evident the rumor had spread to everyone in the encampment—but Morrigan had simply waved it off even if she didn’t necessarily understand her hesitation._

_“I fail to see why you cannot tell her of your feelings. ‘Tis a simple enough thing to confess, even if she might not return them.”_

_“Saoirse already likes her. It would complicate things.” Niamh drew her knees up to her chest as they sat in Morrigan’s tent. She sighed. “More than I would like certainly.”_

_“And so the Chantry songbird would have more than one woman vying for her affections. If her tales sing true, then it would be quite the romantic notion of any Orlesian’s envy,” Morrigan drawled with a roll of her eyes._

_“Again, I do apologize for this. I’ll make it up to you. Didn’t you say you still needed more herbs? I could’ve sworn I saw some by the waterfall we passed by earlier.”_

_“No need,” she had declined quietly. “The ones I have on hand will keep for the time being. Here, hand me that tome and those two satchels in the corner. 'Tis time I showed you how to put together a poultice to fend off spider venom.”_

* * *

Morrigan had been a good friend. 

Niamh had never faulted her for leaving the night before that final battle. Nothing had been guaranteed then after all. Even with all of Saoirse’s strength, they still could have fallen to the Archdemon’s might, and its army of Darkspawn could have overrun all Thedas. As everything would have plunged into chaos, Morrigan could have still lived—if only a little longer than everyone else—to see the world’s end. 

That hadn’t been the case thankfully, but she couldn’t help but wonder about her friend’s whereabouts some days. 

Could she have returned back to the Korcari Wilds? Doubtful. While they hadn’t managed to slay Flemeth before she escaped, the chance of her finding Morrigan there was far too great a risk. Perhaps she had found a new forest to call home, safely continuing her studies now that the salvation of the world no longer required her attention. 

In any case, Niamh merely hoped she was alright.

She sighed as she walked back to her cabin from the apothecary’s, carrying with her a small arsenal of potions that would keep her hurts at bay until she and her party returned back to Haven. All the while, she dodged the overeager soldiers and refugees, kindly declining their attempts to help her with her satchel. Niamh still wasn’t comfortable with them; she hadn’t forgotten how those hands—offered in reverence now—had reached out to strike her with such hate not too long ago. 

Upon reaching her cabin, she found her guest was already inside as she’d requested. His back was to her as he stood before the hearth, likely warming himself, but she was able to catch the glimpse of dark hair and broad shoulders as she placed her belongings on a nearby table.

“I apologize if I’ve kept you waiting, my lord. There were a few matters I had to attend to, and I—” Then, as that dark head quickly whirled about at the sound of her voice, Niamh was able to see his face—warm, silver eyes set against familiar features marked now with the heavy lines of age—and she’d found she had no words left. 

“Niamh?” he asked, tentatively taking a step forward, as if fearing she’d disappear in the next breath.

“Fergus?”

And before she knew it, her brother had crossed the room in two long strides and taken her into his arms. At once, Niamh was reminded of the many hugs he’d given her so long ago. The ones that spoke of how much he would miss her each time she had to return back to the Circle following a visit home. The hugs that warmed her right down to her toes and never failed in taking her off her feet with the strength of them—a considerably easy task given the size difference between them.

As Niamh wrapped her own arms around Fergus’s shoulders—returning his hug just as fiercely—she didn’t care he was holding her so tightly that her injuries protested. For so long, she had thought herself the last of her bloodline, but her older brother was here—alive and well—and she was so very happy to see him. 

“Maker…” His voice shook with the emotions threatening to overtake it. “When I received word that you were here, I almost couldn’t believe it.”

“Merely at the wrong place at the wrong time,” she replied, murmuring into the shoulder of his doublet. Laughter escaped her in a breathless exhale. “Or the right place at right time depending on whom you ask here.” 

Gently, Niamh then pushed at Fergus’ shoulders, and at her bidding, he lowered her back down, letting her feet touch the ground again. From there, she took a moment to merely study the man before her. He favored their father more in looks now, she noted, carrying his strong, square jaw along with a beard that was littered with nearly as much grey. His hair was still predominantly dark like her own, but she could see the silver strands starting to pepper themselves along his temples, granting him more of a distinguished appearance than she'd seen him last.

“Oh, look at you…” he breathed, and Niamh felt his hands gently cup the sides of her face. His eyes were filled with such joy and relief, but there was a wet sheen to them, as if he could scarcely believe she was standing right in front of him. “Maker, you’ve grown so much…” 

“Fergus, how are you even here?” she couldn’t help but ask, touching his wrist. “Saoirse said you’d been killed with everyone else at the Battle of Ostagar.”

He merely shook his head. “My scouting party and I had been ambushed before we could even reach the battle,” he explained. “Only I survived, but I was deeply wounded. Chasind happened upon me and nursed me back to health, but by the time I had recovered enough to make the journey to Denerim...” His voice trailed off then, but he needn’t have continued. 

They both knew how that story had ended.

“All this time, Saoirse and I never knew…”

“Given all that occurred at the time, I can’t very well blame you.” Fergus frowned then, worry in his eyes. “But why did you leave? Your companions said you were present at Saoirse’s funeral, but once her pyre was lit, you were nowhere to be found.”

Niamh turned away from him then, shame-faced. “…I thought I was the last of us,” she admitted. “I couldn’t bear to face that burden alone just as I couldn’t stand the cost of what was lost to set the world right again.”

“Have you been on your own this entire time?”

“It… hurt too much then to be around anyone.”

“And now?” he asked, concern evident in his voice. “Are you alright? Are they keeping you here against your will?” Fergus gently checked her over, looking for any evidence that she may have been mistreated. When he accidentally pressed too hard along her left side, Niamh couldn’t help but wince, especially as her brother drew back sharply in alarm. “Niamh?!” 

“I’m fine,” she hastened to reassure, turning over her left palm, allowing Fergus to see the Mark there. “I was injured when I tried to seal the Breach a few days ago. It will pass.” 

“So it is true...” he mused quietly as he studied the steady glow of her hand. “In her letter to me, your ambassador called you the Herald of Andraste.”

Niamh merely sighed, feeling exhaustion weighing heavy on her with the title. “Again, it was simply a case of me being at the wrong place at the wrong time.” 

“I see…” Her brother looked over her shoulder then, and although Niamh knew she had closed the cabin door behind her, she was also aware of how Fergus’ mind worked. He was likely taking into account all the people who could have been considered a threat to her. 

When her magic first manifested, Niamh had been forever grateful that Fergus had been just as steadfast in his support of her just as Saoirse had. He hadn’t cared that she was a mage; she was still his little sister, and he loved her. Nevertheless, Niamh also knew that his adoration meant he was just as prone to overprotectiveness as their late sister had been. Such was the case now as he frowned deeply at her.

“You know you don’t have to do this, don’t you? Whatever title they give you, this isn’t your responsibility.”

“Then whose is it?” she countered.

“Surely with enough power at their disposal—"

“Fergus, right now the Inquisition is seen as no more than a heretical force. That they call me—a mage—Herald of Andraste grants us little credence at best.” When she saw Fergus’ jaw tighten with seeming frustration, she softened her voice, trying to be consoling even as she knew his concerns were valid. “I know you want to play the big brother and attempt to slay all my demons, but there’s nothing to be done.”

When he realized she had no intention of changing her mind, his shoulders sagged. With a heavy sigh, he ran a tired hand down his face, looking far older than she knew him to be. “And you’re certain then? This is what you want?”

“Not really,” she admitted with a humorless chuckle. “I never expected to be leader of anything. I never wanted to be, but Fergus…” Niamh looked to him, begging him to understand. “As imperfect and flawed as it might be, this is still the world Saoirse left us. If I choose to not help these people, then I’m damning all of Thedas by inaction, and I can’t let her sacrifice mean nothing. I won’t have that on my conscience.”

* * *

Fergus had stayed in Haven long enough to see his little sister off on her journey to The Hinterlands. He’d promised he’d meet with the Inquisition’s ambassador and offer her a list of his contacts—of which he had a substantial number since becoming Teryn of Highever. Some had been established when their father still ruled, but much had been secured by his own hand after he helped take control of their lands again along with aiding neighboring ones following Howe’s betrayal.

All of them would be hers, he’d told Niamh, if she promised to keep in touch. Despite their reunion, Fergus hadn’t wanted to risk them becoming strangers amidst their respective duties. To his relief, Niamh had merely laughed and thrown her arms around him in a grateful hug, agreeing to his terms. 

Although he was disappointed she wouldn’t be returning to Highever with him, he was still endlessly proud of her as well. [With her words, Niamh had proven herself worthy of the noble Cousland spirit along with the same wild passion that came of their mother’s lineage.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RFlSagV1SGU)

Their mother was the Sea Wolf, a woman who had stood stalwart against churning waves as powerful as any invading force—a will of magic, some had whispered—but if she could command the tides, then Niamh was the storm itself, and hers was one to be respected. 

Fergus recalled a memory of Niamh standing out in the castle courtyard amidst a raging downpour, heedless of their sister’s calls to return inside. After spending so much of her time within the Circle tower, he could only imagine how confined she felt to respond so earnestly to such profound moments of nature. 

Niamh hadn’t feared the crashes of thunder or the flashes of lightning. In fact, she had reveled in it. She had continued standing in the deluge, head tilted back to the skies with a grin that was all teeth, unafraid, as if daring the heavens themselves to strike down her unabashed joy. 

Then, when she had finally wandered back into the parlor—promptly receiving an earful from their sister for her recklessness—Niamh had merely smirked and exuded enough force magic to eject the water that had soaked through her robes. That Saoirse had been standing so close to her when that happened, well… Now it appeared the warrior was the one who had been foolhardily standing out in the rain instead of Niamh. 

Here, as he watched her turn one last time to bid him farewell at the gate before leaving with her party, there was none of that playfulness or that easy smile of youth. He saw only a sense of determination in that gaze—tired and resigned though it was. 

The Sea Wolf’s pup had grown, and she was powerful in her own right now. If their mother had tamed the waves, then Niamh heralded the brutal skies to her very whims. 

_Highever’s Storm Wolf,_ he thought with some amusement. 

With the Circle of Magi dissolved, and perhaps once Niamh had managed to save the world, he might be able to convince her to come home. Convince her that it would always be open to her should she ever need a reprieve from her duties. 

Fergus was still aware of the dangers in her life, however, and his expression hardened as he strode back to the chantry to speak with the Inquisition’s ambassador. He wanted to inform her of several concessions that needed to be made if he was to trust his little sister in their care... 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've any questions, you're welcome to leave them down below or hit me up on [Tumblr.](https://morganaseren.tumblr.com)
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated! If you've already left kudos here, then even just a simple note telling me you're still reading this is enough honestly!


	9. I Gathered All I Had and Laid It Down Before Your Feet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leliana knows the reasons why Niamh is so distant with Cullen, and while pondering the past, she also finally receives the news she's long waited for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter is largely one huge flashback, but I needed it in order to set up some scenes further along in the story. Still, I hope you enjoy it! I promise more Niamh/Leliana interactions in the next chapter though!
> 
> And thanks again for all the attention you've been giving this! We're over 100 kudos now and we're soon approaching 1K in hits! Not going to lie, I was nervous as to how well this story would be received when I first posted it, but I'm so glad you all are still enjoying it! I appreciate it so much!

[“And here I thought his obsession was over! Has he been drinking?”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1EAEQBvoRTQ&feature=youtu.be&t=117) Leliana demanded of her agent, and the poor man looked as if he wished to be anywhere but near her, visibly shrinking from her ire.

“I… I couldn’t possibly say.” Weaver twiddled his thumbs before offering hesitantly, “Perhaps he felt—given the circumstances with the Herald here now—you’d have better insight regarding her? You were companions together for quite some time during The Blight after all.” He paled then, nearly choking on his tongue, when ice blue eyes simply narrowed at him. “O-of course, I’m only the messenger!” he added hastily. “You certainly don’t need my input on the matter, my lady!” 

“Then kindly tell the Commander to drop the matter at once! If he feels the need to get back into her good graces again, he’d be better off asking her himself rather than cowering behind a third party.” She frowned. [“To that point, why did he not ask me this in person?”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1EAEQBvoRTQ&feature=youtu.be&t=173)

“You… make him nervous.” He cleared his throat, deepening his voice in a poor imitation of the Commander’s own. “‘Her eyes stare into my soul…’”

“He has a soul?” she deadpanned. When Weaver said nothing else in response, practically shaking in his boots, she waved her hand. “Nevermind. Tell him I will not play the messenger when the mistake was of his own doing nor do I have any intention of ever discussing Lady Cousland with him outside of Inquisition matters.”

“U-understood, Sister Leliana! I’ll relay the message to him at once!” As he turned, he nearly slammed face-first into one of the supporting poles of her tent, but he managed to correct himself at the last moment, all but tripping over his own feet in his retreat.

“ _Merde,_ ” she cursed as she turned back to her reports. 

It would be easy for one to think her reaction petty, especially given it had been a decade since she'd last seen Cullen. He hadn’t been Leliana’s first choice for Commander or her second.

Or even her third for that matter.

No, they had all unfortunately perished in The Conclave, and so their burgeoning organization had been sorely lacking in suitable candidates. It was imperative they had someone to lead their troops, but Cassandra hadn’t wanted the position, and Leliana already had her hands full with her spy network.

While Cullen certainly wasn’t lacking in combat experience, her first meeting with him almost a lifetime ago had cemented an image of him within her that she’d never forget. For an Orlesian—for a bard—first impressions were a currency in and of itself, capable of making or breaking one’s status in society. 

For Leliana, Cullen’s was nigh irreparable.

* * *

_It had been a task even getting inside the sanctum of Ferelden’s Circle._

_Knight-Commander Greagoir and his Templars had already been in the process of sealing off the first floor of the tower as abominations and demons had apparently run rampant throughout it not long after the Battle of Ostagar. At their arrival, Greagoir had announced his intentions to send word to the Chantry of Denerim and then call upon the Rite of Annulment. The latter, however, would mean the death of everything still locked behind the tower doors._

_Saoirse had protested the decision immediately. “My little sister is still in there!”_

_“You can’t possibly know that. She could have been killed by the demons or turned into another one of those blasted abominations!”_

_“Niamh?” The warrior gave an incredulous laugh, but those eyes were sharp and damning. She crossed her arms over her chest as she stared the Knight-Commander down with a grin that was little more than the baring of teeth. “My sister’s a force of nature. She doesn’t willingly bend the knee to just anyone,” she growled._

_“Be that as it may,” Greagoir bit out between clenched teeth, eying the woman who easily stood toe to toe with him in height, “this is a fool’s journey. If the situation has deteriorated as badly as I've been led to believe, then you’re risking your life needlessly.”_

_“I’m not going to abandon her.”_

_Realizing Saoirse couldn't be reasoned with, the Knight-Commander then reluctantly offered a compromise. “Very well, but be forewarned: while I will let you enter, I will not reopen those doors unless everything behind it has been purged or I’ve heard from the First Enchanter himself that the threat has been contained.” His eyes narrowed. “It will not matter to me if you found your sister or any survivors within alive and well. If Irving has fallen to those creatures, then there is no saving the tower. Choose carefully, Grey Warden…”_

_And then Greagoir left to give further orders to his Templars. Saoirse—for her part—had removed herself from them all, needing the distance as she considered the options at hand. Her expression was grim as she paced along the stone with quick, angry strides, trying to draw up any feasible plan to rescue her sister to little avail. Then, upon realizing she couldn’t afford to keep biding her time, a heavy sigh escaped her before she turned a weary look over to her fellow Grey Warden._

_“You still have the treaties, yes, Alistair? If I don’t return before the Annulment commences…” Her voice trailed off, glancing away. “You don’t need me to see our mission through.”_

_“Wait, wait, wait! You can't possibly be serious!” Alistair protested, eyes wide with panic. “Have you somehow forgotten we’re supposed to be scrounging up allies to fight against the Archdemon and his Darkspawn?!”_

_“Niamh’s all the family I have left. I’m not going to let her die.” Her voice lowered to a whisper, tension tight along her jaw. “Not alone at least…”_

_And then Morrigan had merely given a long-suffering sigh before offering her own input. “Have we not established that Alistair is dimmer than even that infernal hound of yours? You would trust the fate of the world to him? The dog lord who would sooner follow his own tail to our next destination so long as it meant that he did not have to be the one to lead?”_

_“Nice to know you care, Morrigan...”_

_“Care has little to do with it, fool.”_

_While Alistair and Morrigan began another round of their increasingly snippy comments toward one another, Leliana approached Saoirse, resting a hand on her arm. “I think what they mean to do say is that you’re noble in wanting to save your sister.” She smiled, gently coaxing her into seeing reason. “However, would you not be able to find her and the First Enchanter more easily with help on your side? Time is of the essence after all.”_

_Saoirse had blinked a moment as she stared down at her. Then, breathless laughter escaped her, relief greatly evident in its lingering notes. “You strike a fair point. Let’s not delay the matter any further, hm?”_

* * *

_Upon making their way inside, they saw evidence of murderous destruction everywhere._

_The bodies of mages and Templars alike were strewn across the floors and walls like macabre decorations. The once grey stone now appeared as if they had been painted red—evidence of all the lives lost to whatever mayhem further awaited them._

_As if in emphasis to that point, they heard the sounds of fighting in one of the rooms ahead. The walls practically shook—bits of debris falling from the otherwise unyielding surfaces—with the ferocity of the battle within. When Saoirse had immediately drawn her greatsword with the intent of slaying what she assumed to be a demonic threat, they kept their own weapons at the ready and followed closely behind her._

_As soon as they stepped over the threshold of the archway, Leliana could feel every hair at the back of her neck raising in response. The room practically sang with the electricity pulsing through the air, and it nearly drowned out the gurgling roars of a Rage Demon on the verge of destroying a young woman with its flaming fists. Before Leliana could even fully draw the string of her bow back to offer some cover, she felt the energy in the room shift again to coalesce more heavily around the mage’s hands. As such, the demon couldn’t even get within a body’s length from her before lightning shot forth from the woman in a near blinding cone that encompassed her foe entirely. Instantly, it began to convulse with a litany of screeching roars, but it was rooted in place by the electricity coursing through its body._

_Escape was no longer an option for it._

_By the time the attack had subsided, nothing at all of the demon remained, and Leliana’s bow went slack in her hands. She had worked with mages before, but Sketch had specialized more in healing magic. While her former companion could be frighteningly capable when the situation called for it, what impressive displays of magic Leliana had seen from him were effortlessly dwarfed by the ease in which the woman before them utilized her own abilities. As her mind struggled to comprehend such power, the mage was soon turning toward them curiously._

_She was young—no younger than twenty seasons, Leliana wagered—and her hair was as dark as the night sky, framing eyes paler than even moonlight. Lightning danced across the woman’s otherwise peaceful visage before dissipating entirely with a languid blink. With that, so, too, had the electric aura that permeated the air so intensely, and Leliana realized—stunned—that the mage had been the sole source of it all along. The mage, thankfully, seemed to have no interest in attacking them, but she did lift a brow in question, as if wondering how they came to be there._

_“Niamh!”_

_The mage’s other brow immediately rose to join its twin when she turned to eye their leader. “Saoirse?” No sooner had the name left her mouth that she suddenly found herself in one of the woman’s infamous bear hugs, laughter soon escaping them as they both realized the other was alive and well._

_“ **That’s** the Warden’s sister?” Zevran murmured next to her with clear surprise. “I never would have guessed...”_

_Not that Leliana could have blamed him for the thought._

_Their golden-haired leader practically towered over her sister, standing over a full head taller and was nearly twice the mage’s physical size. Niamh, however, was closer to an average Fereldan woman in height and—from what Leliana could determine at a distance—was also a tad breathier in voice than Saoirse, who was always lively in speech._

_“My, my… She is quite easy on the eyes, don’t you think?” Zevran asked, rubbing his chin thoughtfully as he looked Niamh over with a mischievous grin. “Do you think our leader would take it badly if I were to pay her the compliments she is surely due?”_

_“Stop it, you,” Leliana admonished as she playfully shouldered him aside, causing him to chuckle in response. “Let them have their moment.”_

_Introductions were soon made and acquaintanceships made anew when Saoirse and Alistair met with one of the older mages who had assisted them during the Battle of Ostagar. Wynne had told them that one of her fellow Senior Enchanters had been the cause of the demons and abominations overrunning the tower._

_“Before that, Uldred had been trying to convince everyone in the Circle to ally with Loghain,” Niamh added uneasily. “He said we’d be given more leeway from the Chantry under his rule.”_

_“Yes, but I suppose he never took into consideration that he hadn’t been the only mage to survive that battle,” Wynne said. “Once I told everyone of Loghain’s treachery, Uldred no longer had the support he needed. Infuriated, he left that meeting not long afterward, and First Enchanter Irving and the other Senior Enchanters went to confront him. Unfortunately…” Her voice wavered as she gestured to their bleak surroundings. “This seems to be the aftermath…”_

_“Is there a possibility your First Enchanter survived the confrontation?” Saoirse asked._

_“Irving? He is still very much formidable despite his age,” Wynne said of her friend. “And twice the mage Uldred could ever hope to be. On the basis of pure magical power alone, I’d dare say he would have the better edge, but against this…”_

_“It’s blood magic,” Niamh announced grimly. “But I fear this is far too widespread for Uldred to have done alone.”_

_Wynne turned to her, a frown marring her tired features. “What are you suggesting?”_

_“You already heard the rumors of blood mages within our ranks, but it was Uldred who rooted every last one of them out, wasn’t he? Irving may have applauded his efforts at the time for his vigilance, but I’m not comfortable continuing to call that a simple coincidence.”_

_“But that’s—” Then Wynne closed her eyes, sighing. “No, you’re right,” she admitted. “As Senior Enchanters, my colleagues and I should have been more mindful of the situation. We trusted that Uldred would know better, and now everyone is suffering for our mistakes.”_

_“As remarkably thrilling as this all is to hear,” Morrigan began, voice thick with sarcasm, “'twould be unwise to tarry any longer, Warden.”_

_Saoirse nodded. “Knight-Commander Greagoir has already said he’d refuse to let anyone leave unless First Enchanter Irving is brought before him. If he’s dead, the only way my companions and I can leave is if we purge everything within this tower.” Her words were met with a round of gasps from the gathered mages—all still relatively young, Leliana noted—and Wynne immediately moved to stand before them, brandishing her staff with a glare._

_“You can’t! They’re innocent in this! They should not have to suffer for the mistakes our council made!”_

_Only Niamh seemed calm about the matter._

_Even in the face of such a threat, she simply settled her staff against her back—her intent of not using it against her sister or her companions vividly clear. Her gaze seemed curious at best instead of frightened. “If you went through all the trouble of coming here, I’m going to assume you have a plan then?” Her lips drew up into a small smirk. “Or at least the closest semblance of one coming from you, Saoirse...”_

_The warrior merely laughed goodnaturedly at the jibe, reaching out to playfully ruffle her sibling’s hair. “Well, that’s where you come in certainly. You already know the layout of the tower as well as the people within it. You’d stand a better chance of discovering any possible traps we come across as we try to find your First Enchanter.”_

_Wynne eyed the two sisters’ interaction and slowly seemed to relax at the sight of it. If one of their own felt at ease in such company, perhaps she had little to fear after all. “If your intent is to save the people within the tower then I’d like to accompany you. I want to help undo this,” she said only to be immediately met with Niamh’s concerned protests._

_“No, Wynne, please. You were injured not too long ago.”_

_“I’m fine now.”_

_“Elina said you’d been unconscious for several minutes by the time I found you all. My healing abilities may not be on par with yours, but even with the apprentices assisting me, I feared we almost couldn’t bring you back. Please,” she begged softly, “for my peace of mind, let me handle this. I’ll lead them to where Uldred is, and then we can be rid of this nightmare once and for all.”_

_Several heartbeats passed as the two women were locked in a silent battle of wills, but it was Wynne who finally relented._

_“Very well,” she said reluctantly. “While you’re not yet an Enchanter, you’ve been a full-fledged mage for years. As such, you know the dangers you face on the upper floors better than the ones here who’ve yet to undergo their Harrowing.” Wynne placed her hand atop Niamh’s shoulder, and her expression was one of warm pride. “You no longer need me to guide you to do what is right. Be swift, young one, but be safe.”_

* * *

_As promised, Wynne had stayed behind to watch after the remaining apprentices. In the interest of protecting her young wards, she placed a barrier around the archway as soon as they left the antechamber. From there, they were left to their own devices against otherworldly nightmares._

_When the entire party had found themselves in what appeared to be the tower’s mess hall, the multitude of corpses within sprung to life. Against such numbers they couldn’t afford to remain passive in their positions without being overrun. As such, Leliana had temporarily switched to her daggers, and without so much as a word being said, she, Zevran, Alistair, and Saoirse had formed a circle around the two mages in their party. It was large enough that it gave Niamh and Morrigan a clear line of sight toward their enemies with their respective spells but close enough to where the warriors and rogues could be healed if need be._

_And then they were on the move._

_As part of their offensive frontline, Leliana kept the bulk of shambling skeletons at bay, but as their enemies couldn’t feel pain, they couldn’t be easily staggered. They merely continued to stumble forward, heedless of any injuries they sustained in their mindless assault. It was soon apparent their situation could prove dangerous if Leliana and her companions weren’t vigilant. In the heat of battle, it was entirely too easy to be focused on one target while its brethren surrounded you._

_She dodged one of the skeletons’ greatswords, and before she could even step back a pace to reconsider her angles of attack, she felt her daggers warm in her hands. Perplexed, she glanced down briefly enough to see her blades were surrounded in great licks of fire, and while she could feel their warmth, it proved harmless against her skin, merely dancing over her fingers._

_She heard exclamations of surprise from Alistair and Zevran, and Leliana saw their own weapons had been set aflame as well, but Saoirse remained suspiciously quiet. One look at their leader saw that she had glanced over her shoulder, grinning in approval at her little sister, who returned it with a languid smirk of her own._

_“See if that doesn’t help things along a bit, hm?” Niamh said as she gathered lightning in the palms of her hands. “We need to take their numbers down carefully. Morrigan and I can keep the larger packs of them at bay while you all deal with the ones closest to us.”_

_With a battle cry, Saoirse leapt forward and swung her greatsword in a wide arc against three enemies in front of her. With the flames dealing additional damage, she was able to slice cleanly through bone and gristle—the decaying flesh glowing briefly red with the blade’s pass—in a single swipe. Cleaved in half, the skeletons toppled limb over limb but soon moved no more._

_Bolstered by the sight, Alistair and Zevran wasted little time getting back into the fight and neither did Leliana. With her daggers, she made short work of the stray enemies closest to her. With Niamh’s magic, it felt like her blades were cutting through mere parchment against the walking dead._

_Against such numbers, however, the battle was long, but Niamh diligently kept rebuffing their melee weapons with fire in between providing crowd control. It seemed she had left the bulk of magical offense largely to Morrigan while she herself used her lightning to chain it through where the enemies were thickest. It was enough to stun the skeletons into breaking off into smaller groups, where they could then be picked off by the warriors and rogues without fear of being overwhelmed._

_It was an arduous process to be certain, but they had succeeded in the end, leaving them to ascend to the next level of the tower._

_The throngs of enemies there weren’t nearly as bad what they had encountered in the mess hall, but they had been almost caught off guard entirely by a group of blood mages, who had taken one look at Niamh and immediately began pelting her with a series of magical attacks. Unfortunately, in her need to dodge away from them, it left the mage closer to her sister, whom she was now nearly back to back with. In such close quarters, Leliana knew it could spell disastrous if the two weren’t careful in their respective attacks._

_Pleased that they seemingly had the two sisters cornered, the blood mages began summoning demons to do their bidding, sending them after Niamh and Saoirse in droves._

_Despite Leliana’s worries, however, it seemed she had underestimated how in-tune the Cousland siblings were with one another. Niamh’s spells were slipping seamlessly past Saoirse’s guard to electrify, scorch, or freeze the blood mages in the distance while the warrior parried and struck with brute force against the demons around them. Even as Saoirse swung her greatsword in wide arcs, Niamh seemed to anticipate her movements and shifted herself accordingly, never once faltering with her own attacks._

_It was evident they trusted one another implicitly, and as Niamh summoned an actual tempest within the antechamber—the intensity of which nearly had Leliana stumbling in her footing—to strike down their remaining foes in one fell blow, she understood why Saoirse had earlier called her sister such a force of nature._

* * *

_[“Sifting through my thoughts… tempting me with the one thing I always wanted but could never have…” Cullen muttered as he knelt, hiding his face from them. “Using my shame against me… my ill-advised infatuation with her… a mage, of all things!”](https://youtu.be/p5MutbYb7C0?t=105)_

_Never had Leliana felt so awkward as she did then, watching the Templar before them share his innermost thoughts regarding their new companion, who only seemed to shift uncomfortably in place._

_“Cullen, it’s me,” Niamh said softly, trying to soothe him, but when she tried to approach the barrier, the Templar sprung to his feet immediately with bloodshot eyes._

_“No!" He flung his arm out, spittle flying from his mouth in sheer vehemence. “No! Begone from me, demon!”_

_“I’m not—” Niamh’s shoulders slumped, uncertain of how to prove her sincerity. “I promise; I’m trying to help you.”_

_“I want nothing you can give! You are still a mage, and I, a Templar! It is my duty to oppose you and all you are!” He gritted his teeth, looking at Niamh like she was little more than dirt beneath his boot._

_“Cullen—"_

_“Do you realize what your kind has done here?! What they did to my friends?!” Grief cascaded over his features then, and he nearly collapsed with the weight of it, of what he had witnessed firsthand. “The mages caged them like animals and turned them into monsters, bodies and spirits broken, and I could do nothing for them…” He glared at her in righteous fury, chest heaving. “And to think I once thought we were too hard on you. I know better now. Only mages have that much power at their fingertips! Only mages are so susceptible to the infernal whisperings of the demons!”_

_And with every word that sought to hurt and belittle her, Niamh shrank beneath each one—her expression one of pained torment—looking for all the world like she wished she could hide behind her staff. She was grasping it so tightly that Leliana saw her fingers shaking, knuckles nearly turning white from the pressure._

_Her heart hurt for her._

_While she could scarcely imagine the torture inflicted on the Templar, Niamh had shown them nothing but kindness. She had gently guided them, mended their aches, and even helped Saoirse rescue them all from the Fade. As it was a realm of demons, Leliana knew Niamh had attempted the latter at great cost to herself. Given her caliber of power, Niamh would not gone unnoticed by the numerous monsters within it, but the woman had said she couldn’t simply leave them to their nightmares._

_Not when they had been the only ones willing to help her people._

_But Niamh was still a young woman._

_Although remarkably brave—and even considerate to a fault—she could still be hurt, and that was evident as she was faced with such vitriol from someone she had clearly known quite well. She looked so small standing there—utterly and hopelessly lost—and not at all like the mage who could bend all manner of nature to her whims with negligent ease._

_“We’re not all evil, Cullen,” Niamh whispered, eyes downcast when it was apparent the Templar would have none of her words._

_From Saoirse’s expression, Leliana knew she was hurting deeply for her sister and was absolutely livid at the man who had purposefully inflicted such pain upon her. Had it been possible for the warrior to bypass the barrier, Leliana had no doubt she would have been the first to pummel the Templar into the dirt. Thankfully, her anger was tempered as Niamh rested a hand on her forearm._

_“Let’s go,” Niamh said quietly, no longer looking at Cullen, but she winced as he vehemently called for the death of every mage behind the doors beyond them. With regret, Leliana saw what vibrancy had been present in those silvery eyes at the start of their journey was no longer there. “If what he says is true, then Uldred took the mages who opposed him into the Harrowing Chamber to be converted. The ones who willingly followed him have made their choice, but for the ones who continued in their resistance…” Her gaze turned beseechingly to her sister. “I ask that we save them if we can.”_

* * *

_By dawn, they had defeated Uldred and managed to free the mages he had imprisoned for his own malevolent schemes. That First Enchanter Irving had still been among them had been a blessing. For their mercy, they had the old mage’s undying gratitude, but such restraint had come as little surprise to them all._

_Saoirse cared so deeply for her sister that—mage or no—she couldn’t willingly put them all to the sword for the mistakes of the few._

_Nevertheless, when Irving had been informed as to why they had been in the tower to begin with, he solemnly promised needed aid for their cause. As a show of good will, he even went so far as to approve Wynne’s and Niamh’s leave if they desired additional help in their quest._

_But Cullen had protested entirely._

_“We can’t let them leave, especially not her!” he exclaimed, pointing viciously at Niamh, who backed away with wide eyes. “The demon spoke to her! I heard it outside the Harrowing Chamber!”_

_Leliana remembered the moment well. The words had slid like oil down her spine as they fought the possessed Uldred._

“Look at you, shining so brightly, so brilliantly. You’d be a glorious prize worthy of any of my brethren,” _he crooned with wicked desire._

_“And yet it did not tempt her into following it unlike Uldred,” Irving countered with grace before turning to Greagoir. “She vanquished it, striking the final blow. If things are as dire as they say beyond this tower, then her aid would prove invaluable to these Grey Wardens.”_

_The Knight-Commander rubbed at his jaw with a gauntleted hand thoughtfully. “I can understand you sending Wynne, but Niamh? She’s not even a designated Enchanter yet, Irving.”_

_“And yet she’s shown better judgment and fortitude than even some of my Senior Enchanters. I have no doubt she’ll set a fine example for us all.”_

_“No!” Cullen shouted, eyes wild. “She’s too powerful! Who knows what creature could possess her with the abilities she has access to!” When he drew his sword with the intent to use it upon her, Niamh gasped, but Leliana had immediately placed herself before the Templar's line of sight, blocking Cullen but protecting her. Then, all both women could see was Saoirse’s armored back as she moved to confront Cullen._

_“If you even think of pointing your sword at my sister,” Saoirse began in a low growl, hand raised to the hilt of the greatsword over her shoulder, “I assure you, it will be the last time you have an arm…”_

* * *

_Ultimately, Cullen’s concerns had been dismissed as Greagoir publicly reprimanded him. The Templars hardly had the forces needed to stand against the Warden’s party were a fight to break out after all. That, and the Knight-Commander had proven thankful for their aid in ridding the tower of demons. As such, the remaining mages within were left alone, but having witnessed Cullen’s hate, Saoirse hadn’t felt comfortable leaving her sister there, so with Irving’s repeated permission, they left with Niamh and Wynne._

_As expected, the younger mage had been terribly despondent for several days._

_“He knew me for years,” she had said once they were well and truly far away from Ferelden’s Circle. “But even then, he still felt that I should—H-he tried to…” Niamh’s words fell like broken oaths upon her tongue as her voice trailed off._

_“I’m sorry,” Leliana replied sincerely as they sat by the fire. “I… I know how much such betrayal can hurt.” She was at once reminded of a woman from her past who had shown her the world and had consequently destroyed it at her earliest convenience, spurning whatever affections they had for one another. But she was here to comfort Niamh; her own pain didn’t need to be shared. Not now. Not here. Niamh’s wound was far fresher, and it needed to be given the attention it was due. “Were you both close?”_

_“We were friends. Of the Templars, he was always well-mannered. Polite. Not very subtle however.” The barest smile played on her lips at that. “I knew he had feelings for me; I just didn’t feel the same. Still…” Her fingers idly spun about the charcoal pencil in her hand. “…I think it hurt more to know that he would think me capable of such a thing when I had been nothing but kind to him.” She sighed deeply. “But what is the point of kindness if it still means people are going to believe the worst of me no matter what I do?”_

_“I cannot speak for him, and I will not attempt to. I’ve no wish to invalidate your pain, and while facing such disappointment is always possible in life, it is not the only thing. Your sister cares for you a great deal; she would not have asked you to come with us otherwise, no?” When Niamh nodded—albeit hesitantly—Leliana smiled and gently placed her hand on her shoulder. “You are a remarkable young woman, and I am glad that you are also with us. First Enchanter Irving spoke highly of you and not just of your magical ability.”_

_Grey eyes blinked. “He did?” Curiosity settled in that gaze now, and Leliana was pleased to see the mage was slowly retreating out of her depressed shell._

_“Yes, he actually mentioned you were a wonderful artist, and I can see why. Have you practiced it for very long?”_

_“Well, yes, actually.” Niamh actually seemed sheepish at the admission. “There’s not much to do outside of our studies and training, you see. I took up the hobby to occupy myself. I mostly sketch, but I’ve done woodwork before along with glasswork.”_

_“I see. Oh!” Blue eyes widened when she saw what Niamh was currently working on. She leaned in closer. “Is that Morrigan?” Surely, it could have been no one else with such sure strokes and lines detailing the witch’s feathery, raven hair and her bold gaze—filled with a familiar nonchalance._

_“She’s… intriguing.” Laughter escaped Niamh in a small huff. “Although at this point, I’m hoping she doesn’t notice that I keep looking up at her every few minutes to sketch her. I’d rather not have my book set aflame if I can help it; parchment is a bit harder to come by these days. With her beauty, she’s worth more than a few pages alone.”_

_Leliana hummed in agreement. “I’ve noticed she doesn’t care much for material things though. Such a shame, really. I always thought she’d look absolutely gorgeous in a dress.” Her gaze turned to their wayward companion, who was reading alone by her own campfire. Leliana tilted her head, wondering what the latest in Orlesian fashion would best suit the other woman._

_“I can certainly see that. Perhaps… in red velvet? With a low neckline?”_

_Startled, Leliana immediately swiveled her head back toward Niamh, who had somehow managed to mirror her thoughts on the matter perfectly. The other woman offered her a smile, which Leliana quickly returned, utterly delighted. “Yes! Exactly! Tell me,” she insisted, scooting closer to her, intrigued, “what are your thoughts on shoes?”_

_“Truthfully? I wish I had more other than the standard issue boots they gave us in the Circle,” she drawled humorously. Grey eyes lit up then. “Oh! I actually saw a pair in the window of a nearby shop before we came here. Knee-high in black leather with a thick heel.” Niamh turned her gaze skyward, as if recalling a memory while mimicking writing something in the air with her pencil. “And there was some lovely stitchwork at the top done in tasteful, silver threading too. Tiny crescent moons and stars I believe.”_

_Leliana clapped her hands together. “Oh, I do believe you and I are going to get along just fine! Come!” she announced, taking Niamh’s hand in hers, and she silently marveled at the sheer warmth of it. “Let’s go get those boots for you!”_

* * *

“Sister Leliana!” 

Leliana was drawn out of her reverie as Weaver slipped back into her test, near breathless as he carried a missive with him. From the coded writing along the exterior of the parchment, she could tell it was the message she had long been expecting from Charter. With keen eyes, she wasted little time in unfolding the letter and decoding it, but what she found, however, darkened her mood instantly.

She had hoped that she'd been wrong. 

Here—as the letter entailed—Leliana had been betrayed, and she couldn’t fathom why.

With all her agents, she expected a level of professionalism befitting their position. She knew each of them by name and she was well-aware of each of their backgrounds—no matter how fervently they had tried to distance themselves from them. For their loyalty, she had offered them her trust in turn, but was such familiarity in actuality a weakness—a dagger in the back when she least expected it? 

Had she been so very wrong this entire time?

“There were so many questions surrounding Farrier’s death. Did he think we wouldn’t notice?” Leliana murmured aloud, insulted at the very idea. “He killed one of my best agents and knows where the others are.” She shook her head in disgust but kept her tone even despite the rage boiling inside her. Ice blue eyes turned to Weaver. “You know what must be done. Make it clean—painless if you can. We were friends once.”

[“Wait.” A voice called from behind them. “What’s going on here?” ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yl837TOfKAY)

Leliana turned her head to see that Niamh stood at the entrance of her tent, and from the snow slowly melting from the fur on her spaulders, she had likely been standing there for quite some time. She frowned. Was she losing her touch that she hadn’t noticed the woman’s presence at all, or had Niamh simply gotten better at hiding in plain sight over the years? She shook her head.

“He betrayed us. He murdered my agent.”

“And your immediate decision is to kill him?”

Leliana frowned in turn, crossing her arms. “Do you find fault in my judgment?” she asked, ice in her voice, to which Niamh simply shook her head.

“Simply that one,” she replied quietly, concern evident in her expression. “It’s rather abrupt even for you.”

Leliana couldn’t help but scoff. “You realize that a decade has passed since we last saw one another? I’m not the same woman you knew.” But her words had allowed the eyes across from her to cool, and what worry had been evident in their depths had dimmed to near nonexistence. 

“I’m well-aware of that. I don’t need to remind you that I’m hardly the same mage who walked away from Kinloch Hold either. Given everything that’s transpired in the past few weeks, however, I thought your own situation could merit at least another look.” She shrugged, leaning against the supporting pole of Leliana’s tent. “It wasn’t that long ago your colleagues wanted me dead for a murder I never even committed.” 

“We were able to clear your name of that.”

Niamh rolled her eyes. “Leliana, if it had been anyone else but you down there with Cassandra, I’d likely be dead by now. You can’t deny they weren’t even willing to listen to me objectively back then. If you hadn’t verified I was telling the truth, I’d be hanging from the gallows.” 

“Most of that was hearsay to begin with, but here—” Leliana gestured emphatically at the letter atop her desk. “—I’ve evidence Butler’s betrayal put our agents in danger! I can condemn one man to save dozens!” She shook her head. “I may not like what I do, but it must be done. I cannot afford the luxury of ideals in a time like this.”

“What?” Niamh's brows furrowed, beyond baffled as she stared at her. “Now is _precisely_ the time for ideals!”

Silence descended between them, interrupted only by the uncomfortable shifting of Weaver, who likely wished the ground would swallow him whole than be present for this confrontation. The tension was soon broken, however, when Niamh sighed, pressing her fingers against the bridge of her nose.

“No. I apologize. I won’t tell you how to do your job,” she amended. “If you truly feel he is a threat to your other agents, do as you wish. I merely ask that you consider the whys of his betrayal.” The woman shifted her gaze to eye a few passersby approaching the chantry, but she wasn’t focused on them. Not really. No, Leliana had seen it before in past instances. Niamh’s body remained alert, but she retreated within mentally, allowing the puzzle pieces of a situation to slide together neatly in order to make sense of it. “Was it by simple discontent that he chose to betray you, or was someone else orchestrating his hand?” she asked aloud, shrugging. “I would rather have a clear answer, especially in the wake of everything’s that happened. We’re already believed to be a heretical force; it wouldn’t be too surprising if someone was trying to use that fact to dismantle us from within.”

“Hey, Bright Eyes!” They both turned to see that Varric was hailing Niamh from the steps leading down toward the main gate. “Get a move on. Much as I wish it were otherwise, Val Royeaux won’t wait for us forever.”

Niamh snorted, a brief smile pulling at her lips. “Oh, well. Duty calls,” she said ruefully, reaching down for the satchel resting at her feet.

After several weeks of working through The Hinterlands—bringing forth new contacts and agents alike for the Inquisition—Leliana noted the woman seemed to be fully recovered from her experience at the Breach. Even the motion of casually swinging her pack over her shoulder didn’t seem to cause her any lingering pain. As dark boots shifted in the snow, Niamh turned to look at her one last time. 

“I’m off now, but do feel free to send one of your ravens our way if there’s a matter that needs our attention. Good day to you, Leliana.” Despite the differences in their stations, Niamh—ever polite and respectful—willingly bowed her head toward her before taking her leave.

But the following silence only allowed Leliana to ruminate further within her own thoughts. She turned back to her desk, eying the seemingly damning evidence atop it. Pressing her palms against the hard surface of the wood, she leaned over the letter with narrowed eyes, wondering if there was something else there she couldn't see. She had doubts now as she considered Niamh’s words, but she couldn’t fault the sound logic within them. 

“Your orders, Sister Leliana?” Weaver asked hesitantly. 

She shook her head. _Damn that woman._ “Apprehend Butler, but see that he lives,” she said at last. Leliana saw him nod stiffly out of the corner of her eye before she heard him shuffle away. 

“Um, Sister?”

Leliana rolled her eyes skyward and tried to keep her irritation in check to prevent herself from snapping at him. She sighed soundlessly. “Yes, Weaver, what is it?”

“I think the Herald left this for you.”

Blinking, she turned around to see her agent pointing to a polished wood cylinder. It had been sitting at the edge of the desk closest to the entrance of her tent. Curious, she wandered over, and—perhaps satisfied her attention was no longer on him—Weaver went off to complete his next task.

As Leliana picked up the canister, she could feel its warmth through her gloves. From the cork stopper at its wide-mouthed opening, she was able to surmise there was something inside it—either food or drink. With a few careful tugs, she was able to work the cork off, and all at once, a rich aroma filled her senses. Hunger made itself apparent within her then, reminding her that she hadn’t yet eaten—too engrossed in her work. 

In what light entered her tent, she peered into the cylinder's opening and could see a few small chunks floating atop the otherwise thick, dark broth. Meat or vegetable perhaps? As there was only one way to find out, she brought the canister to her mouth and tipped her head back. The broth was as filling as she had expected, and when she felt something touch her lips, she seized it between her teeth. The tidbit fell apart in her mouth with barely any effort from her, and as she chewed thoughtfully, she realized she had bitten into the flaky flesh of fresh fish.

* * *

_“I thought you all could use a reprieve from Alistair’s usual experiments at the cooking pot,” Niamh said in lieu of a greeting as she sat by her tent, handing her a bowl. It was filled with a thick, red broth along with an array of colorful vegetables and what appeared to be…_

_“Is this fish?”_

_Niamh hummed in confirmation, digging into her first bite. “It’s a recipe I learned from my aunt. She’s out at sea much of the year, but when she found out that I was a mage and was living in a tower essentially surrounded by water, she showed me how to make this. Normally I prefer my fish grilled over an open fire, but with the right ingredients, even boiled fish can turn out fairly well I’ve learned.”_

_Leliana soon took to sampling it as well, and her eyes widened. The richness of the fatty fish had coated her tongue instantly, and there was just enough spice within the broth that it warmed her instantly against the chill in the air._

_“I hope the dried peppers weren’t too much," Niamh commented, carefully eying her expression. "It’s been some time since I’ve done this. The apprentices were usually the ones who traded off on who made food for everyone back at the tower. It’s supposed to build rapport and teach basic cooking etiquette.” Her gaze drifted askance. “Unfortunately, some of them were just as bad as Alistair in the kitchen. I took to just keeping spices on me in order to stomach some of their dishes.”_

_Leliana laughed. “Well, I’d hardly think you’d lost your touch. This is wonderful! Thank you!”_

_Niamh smiled, and as the flicker from the main campfire danced along the surface of her eyes, they almost seemed to glow from the compliment. “Glad you enjoyed it.”_

* * *

A rustle of paper against her fingers pulled Leliana from her thoughts, and she looked down to see a piece of twine near the neck of the cylinder. She turned it carefully in her hands until she could see a simple piece of parchment paper—the edges of it torn as if from a book—attached to it. Written upon it was the flowing script of an artist’s hand.

_Didn’t see you breaking fast with us at this morning’s meeting._

_-N_

A smile lingered on Leliana’s lips even as she shook her head at the other woman’s gesture. Still, it didn’t stop her from bringing the cylinder back with her to her main desk, where she nursed the contents within it for the remainder of the morning in between working, warm and full.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So apparently if you had a Circle Mage Warden who romanced Leliana in Origins, you could get the following lines I mentioned above in the hyperlinks, which coincidentally inspired the first segment of this chapter. Honestly, four playthroughs later, and I'm still discovering new things about this game. Who knew? :P
> 
> If you've any questions, you're welcome to leave them down below or hit me up on [Tumblr.](https://morganaseren.tumblr.com)
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated! If you've already left kudos here, then even just a simple note telling me you're still reading this is enough honestly!


	10. I Live and Breathe Under the Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Niamh gets to know a few of her associates, and Leliana reveals a new issue in regards to her agent's betrayal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Keep the length of all the chapters consistent," the author says while writing nearly 8k in words. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

“Well, I can’t say I’m terribly surprised by your reception at Val Royeaux.” Josephine sighed, pressing her forehead against steepled fingers, as if it would somehow ward off the headache she could feel brewing behind her eyes. “I do realize it had been entirely my suggestion that you travel there to begin with, but all the same, I’m deeply sorry, my lady.”

“No need to worry yourself, Ambassador.” Niamh appeared completely at ease as she sat across from her, idly stirring her tea. Josephine wasn’t surprised anymore to see the bit of frost gathered around the spoon as it made slow, methodical rotations within the hot liquid. Just as Leliana had told her, Niamh greatly enjoyed tea, but she was often too impatient for it to cool down properly before sampling it. “The names Mother Giselle provided proved quite informative. We at least have a better idea of who might be willing to ally with us. That number may have even increased now that Revered Mother Hevara’s compatriots have scattered to the winds with the Templars’ retreat from the city.” 

Josephine watched the brief smile that played upon those lips, apparently pleased her drink had seemingly cooled down enough to her liking. Niamh then gently tapped her spoon against the rim of her cup—mindful of the porcelain’s fragility—and placed it upon the saucer which sat atop her crossed knees before drinking deeply. Josephine had long learned the other woman had preferred no embellishments with her tea when she participated in these private interludes. 

No sugar, cream, or milk. 

_“It’s more out of habit than anything else,”_ she had told her when asked. _”I never bothered to carry anything more beyond the essentials whenever I traveled.”_

Niamh didn’t seem to any aversion to sweetness however. She never objected to any small snacks that had been offered. In fact, she seemed to delight in the oblong, almond biscuits Josephine brought along this afternoon, which had been twice-baked for a drier, crunchier texture. Josephine had found they paired best with her stronger teas, especially for dipping purposes.

“Nevertheless, I’m sure the experience couldn’t have been easy.” Against a crowd of such magnitude, Josephine was almost uncertain it would have unsettled the other woman, especially given her experience with them the past few weeks. Save for her War Council and the members of her party, Niamh tended to keep a distance from everyone whenever she returned to Haven. She often avoided the tavern and the training grounds outside the village as those were the main areas of congregation. 

Perhaps it had to do with the ill-treatment Niamh received when she’d first been imprisoned—a false charge as it later turned out. Nevertheless, Josephine hadn’t been the only one to notice her distance—polite though she was. 

When the woman had left for Val Royeaux, the ambassador had found a line gathered outside her office the very next morning. Each supplicant there had begged for answers as to what could be done to be returned into the Herald’s good graces. Although they offered Niamh everything from a round of drinks to a wild assortment of gifts, everything had been summarily rebuffed. They were at their wits’ end. 

As the number of voices had begun to grow in volume, Josephine finally announced that she’d talk to the Herald upon her return to see what could be done before they all began to hesitantly disperse, much to her relief. Although she had intended to keep her promise—she hated dealing with any type of deceit even if unintentional—she wasn’t entirely certain how Niamh would react to the news. 

For the time being, it seemed the other woman was remarkably relaxed despite the very notion that an entire city hated her on merely the principle of being a mage.

Perhaps she could ask Leliana for her advice. Despite her words, she still knew Niamh a great deal better than anyone else they had on hand.

“Animosity may as well be an old friend,” Niamh quipped as she reached out for a biscuit to nibble upon. “Val Royeaux was nothing worse than what I’ve faced before. The only difference is that I couldn’t see their hatred and disgust behind those delightful masks. One might have almost thought it a proper masquerade to welcome the blasphemous Herald of Andraste,” she remarked with a languid smile, and Josephine couldn’t help but return it in spite of herself.

Niamh had a very dry sense of humor about her, and she could see why Leliana had spoken so fondly of her in the past. It played well with the mischievous trickster she knew her friend to be—even if such antics were infrequent these days. 

“At any rate, I do appreciate your diplomacy in handling the matter. I don’t think anyone could have anticipated the Templars withdrawing in so public a spectacle.”

“I didn’t go to Val Royeaux with the intention of fighting anyone.” She shrugged. “Not if I could help it certainly. Regardless of what the clerics might believe, I’ve no intention of upending Chantry doctrine. My goal has always been to close the Breach, and any offer of support toward that would only prove useful.”

Josephine was suitably impressed with the woman’s restraint. “An admirable point, my lady. While the endeavor may not have gone as smoothly as we’d anticipated, you did in fact gain us a number of allies.” She shuffled through a few of the letters she received in just that morning that alone. “The aid we offered to Mother Giselle’s colleagues succeeded in raising their voices among the din of our detractors. With Revered Mother Hevara’s own compatriots scattered to the winds with the incident in the Summer Bazaar, I daresay we can confirm we have the majority of the Chantry as a political ally.”

Niamh’s lips pursed, disapproval dancing across the silvery surface of her eyes. “But their focus is still on deciding the next Divine, isn’t it? I can’t imagine they’d be of any use to us for the time being.” 

“True,” Josephine conceded, “but even with their reluctant support, we have more legitimacy in the eyes of the public, which we sorely needed. I can’t even begin to tell you how much easier you’ve made my job in the past few days alone because of this, and I haven’t even mentioned the number of contacts we have now!” she exclaimed. “I never imagined we’d be working with Madame de Fer for instance! Why, she’s absolutely iconic in the upper echelons of Orlais!”

“I can certainly see why.” Niamh sat her cup back down atop its saucer over her raised knee. “Her history alone is most impressive from what Leliana tells me, and she wields her magic so effortlessly.”

“I’m sure you must have impressed her as well if she was the one to extend an invitation to help.”

“Perhaps.” A dark head canted inquisitively. “And what of Sera and her Red Jennies?”

“I—” Josephine frowned, mild embarrassment coming over her. “I confess I’m not entirely certain what to make of her contacts, let alone how they operate.” 

“I don’t think anyone can, really,” Niamh replied with a droll smile. “They might perplex even Leliana at this point. There’s something to be said about having agents with individual codenames.”

“Indeed.”

“Speaking of contacts, however, I wrote to my brother recently about the situation in The Hinterlands. Did we receive any correspondence back regarding that?

“We did, my lady. There was one addressed to the Inquisition and another was personally addressed to you.” Josephine slid forward the letter in question, unopened, and Niamh eyed the thickness of it with raised brows.

“It seems he had a lot to say.”

“I’m sure he simply missed you all the time you were away,” she reassured with a warm smile. “In addition to providing us with a substantial number of contacts, the Teyrn also offered us of a small bounty of Highever’s harvests this year to help feed and clothe not just our troops but the refugees in The Hinterlands.”

Ghostly grey eyes merely blinked at her, expectant. 

“He… may have also mentioned they would only be freely given so long as you were not to be mistreated in any way,” Josephine then admitted with a small wince. “He went to great lengths to explain he would return you back to Highever if he found any evidence we were abusing your good will.”

A sigh left Niamh in a nearly soundless exhale as she settled back against her chair, rubbing at her temples wearily. “That certainly sounds like Fergus… Not exactly a practical solution, given the Breach threatens the entirety of the world, not just Highever.”

“He means well. Is it not natural for an older sibling to be concerned? I can certainly relate to him in that regard. 

“Oh?” Niamh looked up at her, seemingly curious now. “You’ve siblings?” she asked to which Josephine nodded.

“Yes. I am the eldest, and my youngest sister tends to be rather…” She tilted her head to and fro, trying to find a suitable word. “…eccentric, shall we say? I wish she had a bit of your sensibilities certainly; I cannot help but envy the Teyrn for that.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Niamh drawled. “I did spend the better part of a decade essentially running away from home. She can’t possibly be that bad in comparison.”

“You haven’t met Yvette then.” She laughed, brief humor lighting up her voice. “Oh!” It was then she noticed Niamh’s tea was finished, and she silently cursed herself for her lapse in hospitality. “My apologies, my lady. I don’t suppose you’d care for more?”

Niamh’s eyes lit up with immediate interest as she tipped her cup forward in offering. “Please.”

* * *

“A moment of your time, my dear?” an eloquent voice called.

Upon making her way toward the chantry’s exit, Niamh saw Vivienne approach her from an alcove the other woman had allocated as her own. From within, she could see a desk which held a neat series of letters atop it along with a few tomes of seeming significance if their thickness were any indication. Ever the scholar, her restless mind churned curiously at the knowledge that could possibly be contained within them, but they were not hers to study. Ruefully, Niamh knew that she and the other woman weren’t familiar enough with one another for her to even ask for such a concession. 

“First Enchanter Vivienne,” she greeted politely. “I do hope you’re settling in well much as I realize this might not be to par with your usual accommodations. If need be, however, I’m sure Lady Montilyet could aid in procuring a few items for you although we couldn’t promise every amenity.” 

The other woman’s lips gently pulled up into an enigmatic smile—not unlike the one she had given her when they first met—perhaps either in approval that her either her ego was being played to or that she knew immediately that Niamh was being genuine in her hospitality. “Charming as ever, I see,” she observed before airily lifting a hand in a wave. “And you needn’t call me that. With the Circle of Magi disbanded, such titles are of little importance now.”

“Yes,” Niamh conceded reluctantly, “but I also realize that you’re a woman well-deserving of respect and should be treated as such. Anyone who bore such a title was often considered exemplary among their peers after all.” Still, Niamh also didn’t want to risk offending Vivienne by pressing the matter further. She canted her head momentarily in thought—searching for a suitable compromise—before refocusing her gaze on the other woman with polite inquiry. “If not First Enchanter, would simply Lady Vivienne suffice?”

Vivienne looked to her in consideration then—her expression the perfect visage of icy grace—before finally nodding in approval of her etiquette. Her amused smile from earlier turned the faintest touch more genuine, voice softening. “It would indeed.”

“Wonderful. What can I do for you, my lady?”

“You were once part of Ferelden’s Circle, yes? I understand that Senior Enchanter Wynne was a mentor of yours.”

“Oh.” Niamh blinked, not having expected such a turn in conversation. “She was one of several mentors I had at the time, yes,” she admitted with a small laugh. “During my last few years there, we hadn’t received many new apprentices. The ones we did were assigned to the mages who had already undergone the Harrowing before me. Without any of my own, however, I couldn’t advance to the rank of Enchanter, so I spent much of my time helping them and the Senior Enchanters with training their own wards,” she explained. “But, yes, barring First Enchanter Irving, Wynne was the one I spent the most time with certainly. She taught me a great deal of healing and spiritual magic, but I confess that I didn’t take to them nearly as well as the elemental arts.”

“Ah. Yes, I met with Irving in Cumberland during a gathering for the College of Enchanters some years ago. He spoke well of your discipline in magic. If memory serves, he mentioned you underwent your Harrowing at a relatively young age.”

“No younger than you certainly,” Niamh replied. “You were easily the youngest in the Circle’s history to attempt such a feat from what I’ve been told. I was merely seventeen at the time—roughly the same age as my mentor Wynne when she accomplished it herself.”

“Then it would seem Ferelden’s Circle trained quite accomplished mages.” Vivienne seemed suitably impressed as she dipped her head in acknowledgement. “As the College met so infrequently, your mentor and I were distant acquaintances at best, but I never met so wise a soul as hers. She had an amazingly strong sense of duty and an unwavering belief in the Circle’s purpose. Truly, you could have asked for no one better to guide you.”

Niamh had wondered if that were true at times.

Although she had remained diligent in her training and her studies back then, Niamh had also grown more jaded to the ideals the Chantry presented in regards to her people. Wynne’s own teachings only cemented that fact. She had strongly advocated for magic in the sense that Circle apprentices should be able to utilize their gifts in a safe environment in order to better serve the world at large. Such due diligence, however, served an ulterior purpose that Niamh hadn’t agreed with. 

_"Earn your place,"_ Wynne had said to her many mentees over the years, _"and you shall not be reviled."_

But where was the fairness in such a notion? 

That mages were so denounced both in Chantry doctrine and the overall societal hierarchy already implied they were hated on the simple basis of merely existing. There was little chance of equality with such ideology if her people automatically merited so low a rung in the world. As such, Niamh felt she could say with certainty that she no longer believed in the Maker or his blessings. 

Not when it marginalized those most in need of his love and guidance.

While Wynne had been sympathetic—and perhaps even a touch disappointed—the older mage had never really understood her plight in regards to her lapse of faith. Perhaps she had been too old and set in her ways to see otherwise.

“She was a true advocate of her time. Her passing was a great loss to us all.”

At those words, Niamh found herself pulled back to the present with more force than even the Breach’s power. She suddenly found it difficult to even draw breath, body heavy as iron as she sank further beneath depths of uncertainty and disbelief with little strength to break through the water’s surface. Niamh could only imagine what she must have looked like to Vivienne then whose eyes had widened imperceptibly to her reaction.

“Did you truly not—I’m so sorry, my dear. No. Here, here,” she said, gentling guiding her toward the open chair at her desk upon seeing her waver against the pillar. “Come sit.”

“I’m sorry,” Niamh replied through numb lips even as she sat down, her energy all but drained with the sinking realization of her mentor’s death. “I don’t mean to intrude—”

“Hush now.” Vivienne poured her a cup of water from the nearby pitcher. “You needn’t apologize when the egregious error was of my own doing. As your Seneschal was present during the funeral, I thought she may have mentioned it at least in passing given your history with one another. Forgive me, my dear. That is not the way for anyone to find out about the loss of a loved one. Here.” 

Niamh was handed the cup, and she was surprised at the chill of it. She glanced down into its depths and found there were little spheres of ice floating atop the water. Given the already freezing locale, she wondered at the decision of it, and she looked up at Vivienne questioningly, who merely smiled. 

“Ice jolts the senses,” she said simply. “It anchors you more deeply into the present even if everything may fall apart around you. Useful trick, that.” The older mage waved her hand airily. “You may, of course, warm it at your choosing should you find you no longer need that as a catalyst. I feared you were going to faint on me a moment ago.”

Niamh smiled weakly, raising the cup to the other woman in thanks. The cold water was a shock against her teeth, and she only manage a few swallows before it felt like it felt like ice had gathered uncomfortably at the back of her throat. As the sensation spread to the rest of her body, however, Niamh couldn’t deny she felt more physically present than she had a few moment ago. 

“Better?”

“Much.” She sighed wearily. “I suppose I should have expected her death at some point while I was away. I knew Wynne had been getting on in age, but she was ever formidable.” The corner of her lips turned up into a half-smile. “So much so that I thought she could live forever if only to spite the apprentices who willingly tested her patience.”

Vivienne actually spared a small laugh at that. “Ah. A fate destined for any Senior Enchanter unfortunately. We should all be so lucky to live nearly as long and as fulfilled as she did.”

“May—” Niamh winced as her voice cracked. Clearing her throat, she wet her lips to try again. “May I ask how she died?”

The older mage sighed as she crossed her arms, leaning her hip against the desk. “It’s quite the tragic tale, my dear…”

Vivienne had quietly explained that the incident occurred not long after the explosion that destroyed Kirkwall’s chantry. Although its destruction had been the work of one apostate, the Knight-Commander had declared a Rite of Annulment against the city’s entire Circle, which—Niamh knew—would have ended in the deaths of every mage within it. That the mages within were doomed to die for the actions of one man was deemed abhorrent to those within the other Circles, which later culminated in an uprising all throughout Thedas. Although the Templar Order had tried to mitigate it by banning any gatherings of mages, the College of Enchanters had managed to meet in secret, leading to the eventual dissolution of the Circle of Magi by Grand Enchanter Fiona. 

As it turned out, Wynne only became involved in the matter at the request of Divine Justinia.

Wynne and her son Rhys—whom Niamh had been surprised to hear about—along with a few of their associates had been on a quest to rescue a Tranquil named Pharamond, who the older mage had been familiar with. In doing so, they had hoped to gather any information against the Lord Seeker of the time—Lambert van Reeves—for The Divine had suspicions he had been hiding crucial information regarding the Rite of Tranquility. Although Divine Justinia had called for a conclave to discuss matters further, the Lord Seeker had shown up in force, for he had perceived every support of the mages as a threat against the military forces meant to subdue them. 

In retaliation, he had slain several of the First Enchanters present and imprisoned the others before openly annulling the Nevarran Accord, which led in the withdrawal of the Templar Order and Seekers of Truth from the Chantry. While Wynne and her team had managed to rescue the mages still in detainment at the Templars’ White Spire stronghold, they hadn’t been able to stop the Lord Seeker from escaping, and Wynne’s life had been lost in the ensuing battle as he fled.

“I see,” Niamh murmured, processing everything carefully. “So she gave up her life to save one of her son’s companions.”

Having known about the spirit of faith that had dwelled in her mentor during their travels together, Niamh hadn’t been terribly surprised at the cost of such sacrifice. Although she had initially believed her mentor’s sudden revival during Uldred’s crazed dominion of their Circle had been miraculous at the time, the spirit had likely been the only thing keeping the woman alive all these years. When it had returned to The Fade, so, too, had Wynne finally left for the Maker’s embrace. 

“A life well-lived indeed. Thank you for telling me although…” She trailed off, looking up at the other woman then. “I can’t imagine this is what you meant to stop me for earlier.” While it had been a clumsier segue than Niamh would have preferred, Vivienne accepted the subject change with utmost grace.

“You would be correct. I understand you had intentions of heading off to the Fallow Mire once we’ve all had a chance to recuperate from our travels?”

“Yes. One of our reports stated a small platoon of our soldiers had gone missing in the area, and Leliana’s scouts found it was the work of the nearby Avvar. From what I’ve gathered, their leader did it under the provocation that it would draw my attention. He claims I serve a false god and that his victory over me would prove that notion.” Niamh resisted the urge to roll her eyes as she sullenly drank the remaining water in her cup, wishing for a moment it was something far stronger. “Normally I wouldn’t even bother indulging the whims of a violent madman, but as it’s affecting our troops directly, I couldn’t abide it.” 

“A noble sentiment on your part in any case. I trust you’ll be needing help for this?”

“I…” Niamh blinked several times, caught off guard. “Well, yes. I… suppose I didn’t wish to presume if you wanted more beyond an advisory position with us.”

“My dear, when I approached you in Val Royeaux, I meant it when I said I would offer you aid in any and all aspects needed.” Vivienne’s brow arched, but there was enough of a smile lingering on her lips for Niamh to know that she hadn’t unintentionally offended her. “I was not always part of the royal courts after all, or did you not believe I knew how to fight with the rabble when necessary?”

She laughed lightly. “Given what I saw you do to the Marquis at your soiree, I wouldn’t dare suggest such a thing, my lady.”

* * *

Although Niamh and her party had been back in Haven for several days, Leliana noticed the other woman had been her usual absent self apart from War Council debriefings. Otherwise, the mage could often be found within the quiet solitude of her cabin or traipsing about outside the village once the bulk of its residents had turned in for the evening. It seemed to be the latter that night as Leliana strode past the main gate and across the snow to the woman overlooking the lake.

Niamh’s back was to her as she sat across a low boulder. Her staff—a newer, heavier version to replace the simple wooden one she’d originally picked up during her trek to the Temple weeks ago—laid within arm’s reach of her, but Leliana doubted her need of it. Still, she couldn’t fault her precaution, wary as she as was these days.

As she approached her friend, she could see lingering wisps of smoke, and for a moment, she wondered if Niamh had returned to one of her old vices. She had smoked elfroot infrequently during their travels together years ago—well enough away from Wynne, of course, but Leliana suspected the older mage had always been aware of her habit. 

Niamh had said she found the pleasurable buzz relaxing. Her need for such a reprieve had been obvious following her departure from Ferelden’s Circle, but it had been heavily apparent again after their adventures in the Deep Roads, where they had discovered the appalling origins of a Darkspawn Broodmother. Then, Niamh had taken up the vice yet again with almost frightening dependency in the final days leading up to the battle at Denerim. 

Upon padding closer, however, Leliana realized the woman was simply exhaling small licks of fire into her cupped palms. She watched as ghostly-grey eyes blinked at her presence, pulling her hands away far enough that Leliana could just see the barest trace of smoke escaping the corner of her mouth. She arched a brow in question.

“Are you simply warming yourself or are you doing that for your own amusement?”

An easy grin met her words, warming Niamh’s otherwise placid expression. “A bit of both actually.” She shifted her cupped palms so that Leliana could see the shine of something metal between them under the moonlight. It appeared to be a clasp of some sort. “Mother Giselle said it bent and broke off from one of her books when her belongings had been relocated here, so I offered to fix it.”

“Kind of you to offer certainly.” Curious, Leliana bent closer in observation, and although Niamh had said the metal adornment had been broken, she couldn’t even begin to tell where the fracture had originally been. The clasp had been bent back to perfectly straight angles, still warm from the mage’s fire. “Does it not hurt when you do that?” 

“No. To me, it may as well be as warm as a spring sunlight. As for Mother Giselle, well… She has been kind. I hadn’t expected that.”

[Niamh’s gaze had retreated out to the frozen lake, where the surface nearly gleamed beneath the moonlight—reminiscent of her friend’s eyes in some ways.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UflF-nJMgk4) To her words, however, Leliana pondered over them. Given her polite distance with everyone, perhaps it was less of a surprise than it should have been. The mage’s first impression of Haven hadn’t been the best one after all. 

“It seems the villagers are under the impression you haven’t forgiven them,” she said, recalling an earlier conversation with Josie over the matter. “Some wish to personally apologize to you, but as you’ve often made yourself scarce, it’s fallen to our ambassador to fend them off. She seems to think much the same, but she does her best to soothe their anxiety.” Leliana canted her head curiously when Niamh merely sighed.

“People can often be… terrifying. Truly, it’s disconcerting how easily a person’s nature can change when faced with a fact they otherwise had been unaware of—no matter the kindness shown to them.” With the clasp now cooled, Niamh slipped the iron bit back inside her coat, likely with the intent to deliver it to Mother Giselle before she departed for the Fallow Mire in the morning. “They could be a traveler, caught sick from the weather, and I—another vagabond—could offer my aid as a healer with poultices to tend their ills.” Pale eyes dulled then, her words becoming more stilted.

“Now imagine that bandits had come across us, looking to earn some quick coin, but against such superior numbers and an otherwise downed companion, I couldn’t resort to simple melee attacks to fend them all off. Instead, envision where I turned to magic, succeeding in subduing our attackers but earning the utter revulsion of the traveler I had been with for revealing my nature as a mage. Imagine then, that when I went back to tend to him as planned, I received a knife for my troubles as he recoiled from me, cursing me for what I was when all I tried to do was help.”

“You… speak as if from experience and not just an imagined possibility,” Leliana offered hesitantly.

Niamh laughed, but the sound was humorless and effervescent as she idly rubbed the base of her neck beneath the thick collar of her coat. Her attention drawn, Leliana could just barely see the thin line of a scar there, faded near silver with age. She had seen it before that night the woman had initially woken up following her attempt at sealing the Breach. She had wondered how it came to be there, and it seemed she had her answer.

“It’s safer sometimes to lower my expectations of people,” Niamh explained quietly. “It leads to less disappointment certainly. As noble as my intentions could be, some part of them will always fear me for possessing that which I never asked to be granted.”

“So you learned to hide your magic then?” she asked to which she earned a simple nod, saddening her. “Is that why you also hide your pain from us? Cassandra said the first time your Mark flared, you collapsed from it.”

“It’s more bearable now that I know what to expect.

“But it still hurts you?”

“The pain ebbs and flows some days, but yes.”

“Niamh…” Her tone was all disapproval, but she received a weary sigh in response.

“You already know I don’t like drawing attention to myself more than necessary. For me, it wasn’t so bad that I needed everyone to be aware of it.” She turned to her then, gently arching a brow. “But I imagine you didn’t come out here to simply reprimand me. If it has to do with the villagers, I’ll…” She frowned somewhat, hesitant. “I’ll try to be a little more sociable if it will ease Lady Montilyet’s concerns.” 

“No need. Josie would be beside herself if she found you forced yourself to do something on her behalf. As for your other question, well…” She moved to sit, and the other woman immediately adjusted her position on the boulder, making room for her. Leliana then pulled out the polished wooden cylinder Niamh had given her some time ago. “I meant to return this to you, but as you’ve been busy as of late, it’s been difficult.”

“Oh.” Grey eyes blinked at her as she gingerly took the container back. “I nearly forgot about this.”

Leliana rolled her eyes, knowing full well Niamh wasn’t known for being absentminded. “No. You thought I was still angry at you,” she countered pointedly, earning herself a wide-eyed gaze of alarm.

“No! I wasn’t—I didn’t mean…” Pausing, Niamh swallowed almost nervously. “I… wasn’t trying to avoid you--not intentionally at least. While I was away, however, I realized how awkward of a position I put you in, questioning your motives when your agent was standing right next to you.” Her tone was full of remorse, and her expression was equally repentant as she stared down at her lap. “It wasn’t the time or place for me to call attention to a situation I clearly knew nothing about. It was disrespectful.” Silver eyes turned to her then in clear apology. “I trust you; I do,” she murmured quietly. “I never meant to imply otherwise. I’m sorry.”

Leliana knew that—as considerate as she was—Niamh had likely been reprimanding herself for the slight ever since she left for Val Royeaux. She shook her head, a feeling of almost exasperated fondness settling over her. 

“Did you already forget that you apologized? You never directly ordered me to do anything; you merely asked that I give the matter another look. Even when you had your concerns, you gave control of the situation back to me without weakening my position of authority with my agent.” As far as diplomacy went, Leliana admitted it had been remarkably well-done. Josie likely would have applauded the effort had she been present at the time, which gave Leliana the indication Niamh would get along quite well with their ambassador. “There is nothing to forgive,” she pressed the other woman to understand. Then, as the events of the last week danced across the surface of her mind, Leliana sighed. “If anything, I owe you my thanks for allowing me to see the situation more objectively.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. I discovered evidence of something new while interrogating Butler.”

* * *

_It seemed Butler had been blackmailed into accepting his apparent betrayal._

_While Farrier had still unfortunately died in the plot, her agent hadn’t been murdered by Butler’s hands as she—and her closest circle of spies—had been led to believe. He, however, had the misfortune of stumbling upon the actual assailant:_

_Painter._

_Behind the codename, however, Painter was simply Abernale Harish—a traveling artist who had once been of minor nobility. When several business investments fell heavily during The Fifth Blight, his family soon became destitute as his parents had refused to accept their dwindling fortunes and continued spending lavishly on a lifestyle they could no longer afford. As they had been unable to pay their debts, the local municipality soon stripped them of their titles and lands._

_With their fall from grace, his father had drunk himself into madness, and his mother had been killed following a burglary gone wrong in the hovel they could barely afford to keep. Before Harish was even an adolescent, he became orphaned, but the institution he had been given to was overcrowded and often riddled with endless abuses. He ran away not long afterward, working the streets in whatever way he could over the years until he had mastered seemingly every aspect of them. From such experiences, he became quick-witted and just as agile, capable of charming friend and foe alike before escaping with their possessions, leaving them none of the wiser._

_When Harish came to her attention and consequently became Painter, she had thought well of him. While he didn’t necessarily rise through her ranks to become a part of her inner circle, he advanced enough that he was well-admired by his peers. He had even earned Leliana’s recognition of his skills in espionage, but it seemed that she had deeply underestimated him..._

_Butler and Painter had been stationed in Nevarra near the border of the Tevinter Imperium, but the latter had been there months longer, keeping an eye on some of the nobility in the country on Leliana’s orders. Following the Breach’s appearance, they were then also to gather any information of note—no matter how inconsequential—that could lead them into finding the culprit behind the rifts. Leliana had later sent Farrier along to offer them further aid._

_Butler confessed Farrier had found something of interest, but the other man had seemed disturbed by the evidence he had gathered and asked to speak with him at a private location. By some luck, Butler had managed to arrive early to their meeting point, but by then, Farrier laid dead across the floor and the one standing over him with wicked blade in hand was Painter._

_Butler had every intention of telling her of the matter, he swore brokenly as he kneeled before Leliana in chains—watched under the vigilant eyes of her inner circle—but Painter had caught him unaware, saying he knew all about Butler’s own betrayal._

_The secret?_

_Butler had been stealing from the homes of many of their targets for months. At first, it had been mere trinkets that were likely to go unnoticed, but by the time he had joined Painter in Nevarra, he had gotten too greedy. A noblewoman had noticed one of her miscellaneous pieces of jewelry missing. Painter had said that her being aware of it at all meant that Butler was risking their exposure in the country._

_Under any other circumstance, Leliana would have agreed, and so she asked Butler why he had committed such misdeeds._

_Ashamed, he merely stared down at his shackled hands and admitted his daughter had fallen under some unknown illness over the past year and his wife had been taking care of her ever since. His family didn’t know he was a part of Leliana’s spy network. They knew his profession simply to be that of an actual butler, which paid well, given he often worked for nobility._

_It just hadn’t been enough to pay for the medication his daughter needed, and so he had grown desperate._

_Faced with being outed for his crimes and having his family killed by Painter, the traitor had offered him a compromise then: admit that he had been the one to kill Farrier instead and Butler’s family would be taken care of._

_Apparently, Painter had been working for someone else outside of Leliana for several months, and the information he had been gathering for his new employer often proved exceedingly valuable. As such, for Butler’s silence, his family would be paid handsomely upon his death, disguised as a gift from an anonymous benefactor who felt deeply for the widowed woman and her daughter._

_As Leliana stared down at her agent—kneeling not unlike Niamh had when she had first been imprisoned—she forced herself to see past the pain of betrayal and deception. When she did, she merely saw a spirit broken by circumstance._

_Butler had resorted to petty larceny, risked the Inquisition’s reputation, and had willingly taken the blame for Farrier’s death because he had seen no other alternative if it meant keeping his family alive. Leliana understood the intent behind his actions even if she didn’t necessarily agree with them._

_She expected professionalism of all her agents, but they had always been aware they could discuss any concerns of theirs to her. Loyalty—after all—was not simply a one-way path. While she might have not always been able to help in the moment, Leliana did her best to make sure their worries were heard and assuaged at the earliest opportunity._

_That Butler felt he couldn’t come to her was much its own pain, but perhaps along the way, she had lost sight of her earlier ideals amidst a life spent in shadowed duplicity—so much so that he hadn’t felt comfortable admitting to the matters of his personal life._

_What enraged Leliana more, however, was that the betrayal hadn’t come from an outside source as Niamh had suggested._

_It had been from within._

_“In light of your confession,” Leliana began at last, keeping her voice even, “I do find that you willingly endangered the Inquisition with your actions.” Butler never raised his head in acknowledgement of her words; if anything, he seemed resigned in the knowledge that his death would soon come upon swift wings. As such, Leliana continued on. “However, faced with the evidence now presented to us, actions will be taken against Painter so that you and your family will remain unharmed.”_

_At her words, life seemed to return to Butler’s form as his breath caught raggedly in his throat. He jerked his head up at her then, eyes wide. His gaze was equal parts shock and relief, and he didn’t seem to notice nor care that the tears which had rimmed his lashes throughout his confession had finally fallen in rivulets down his cheeks. He understood then what she was saying._

_Leliana was forgiving him._

_“Thank you,” he murmured shakily. “Thank you!” Although still chained, he shuffled forward on his knees and prostrated himself, kissing the ground before her feet in utter gratitude. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” became his mantra between choked sobs, which grew louder when Leliana kneeled before him to rest a gentle hand on his shoulder._

_“This will be an extended investigation,” Leliana said firmly, looking up at her inner circle of spies. “The one we seek is a master of his craft if he’s remained out of my notice for so long.”_

_That he had nearly succeeded into getting her to believe one of oldest and most trusted agents had betrayed her was troubling to be certain. Nevertheless, she was certain she could still turn the situation in her favor._

_They simply needed to act swiftly._

_“As such, we must act accordingly to his own assumptions so as not to draw any suspicion from him. Butler.” She waited until the man raised his head to look at her. “Until the matter is resolved, you will need to be declared dead. Your family will be notified of your death, but they cannot be any wiser to the contrary. You will not be able to contact them until Painter has been subdued.”_

_His expression was grim—and there was pain in his eyes as he realized that he would be kept away from his wife and child for an indefinite amount of time—but he nodded in acquiescence. “If they will be kept safe, then I accept.”_

_Leliana then motioned to Charter, who brought out a bowl filled with a dark red liquid. “This has to be believable,” she said. “Grave enough that those outside our circle will understand what they risk by betraying me, and our traitor will know it as well. Once we’re through, your body will be carted off in full view of our remaining agents, but from there, you’ll be transported to a safehouse. The location of it will be known to only the people within this room. Supplies will be brought to you on a weekly basis, but you will not be allowed to leave the safehouse until we settle this. Do you understand?”_

_“I do.”_

_“Good. Let’s begin.”_

* * *

“I see,” Niamh said simply when Leliana told her what came of the confession.

It was admittedly a risk letting anyone outside her inner circle know, but while Niamh was many things, deception of this nature was well beyond the other woman’s capabilities. Leliana needed only to look back on their journey together to know that she was loyal to a fault.

“Do we know yet who this double agent might be working for?”

Leliana shook her head. “No. It may be some time before we do. We can’t risk him knowing that we’re already aware of his betrayal. For now, I still have him stationed in Nevarra investigating something that has little ties to our current objective.”

Niamh hummed vaguely before releasing a soft breath of incredulous laughter. “Knowing what it is you do now, sometimes I wonder if I really do have the harder role here.”

“They both have their difficulties,” she replied simply. “Are you not going to the Fallow Mire tomorrow? Shouldn’t you be resting in preparation of it?”

“Sleep eludes me tonight. I thought being out here might relax me enough to attempt it again.”

“So long as you don’t fall asleep out here amidst the snow then. Josie would have a fit.” Leliana spared a small smile at that. “Who will you be taking along this time?

“Lady Vivienne actually volunteered, and while I think having Sera along might be cause for a disaster between them, it’s a good enough test as any to see how they fare on the field together.” She rubbed a thumb against her chin thoughtfully. “I’m certain I can wrangle the Iron Bull into helping. Between the two of us, I imagine we can provide a reasonable enough buffer to keep both of them from strangling one another,” Niamh finished with a laugh, and the sound was infectious enough that it drew laughter from Leliana as well as she pictured the very thought.

“I see. Truthfully, I’m surprised you managed to attain even a Ben-Hassrath during your travels.”

“Ah. Well, it certainly wasn’t a hardship.” Niamh’s smile was all amusement. “Bull has a considerable interest in red-haired women apparently. With his connections, he likely already knew of you and your reputation.”

“Unsurprising. Their network is rather formidable if not varied.” Tallis had been the last such agent she’d seen while investigating matters around Kirkwall. “I suppose even something like the Breach would be of worry to the qunari.” 

Her gaze turned to the immense rift in the sky just as a breeze blew over the surface of the lake, bringing its chill to them. Although she was dressed well enough for the weather in the Frostbacks, she still felt the ice in the wind against her face. As such, Leliana drew her cowl closer around her, but she noticed movement out of the corner of her eye, and she turned just in time to see Niamh reaching out to her. 

At the attention, the other woman paused—fingers half-recoiling—but when it seemed Leliana was more curious about her intentions than disapproving, she slowly reached out to gently tap her shoulder. At once, Leliana felt the cold around her dissipate instantly as if fire were coursing through her veins. When she looked down at herself, however, she saw no visible evidence of any magic being used. She turned to Niamh then in question, who only smiled modestly.

“Do you recall how I could ignite your daggers in battle but kept the flames from harming you? Over the years, I took the same principle and applied it in other forms.” She gestured to Leliana’s hauberk. “It’s not nearly as evident, but I simply used your clothing as a catalyst. Wherever you’re covered, the effect takes place beneath it discretely. I’ve found it works just as well with ice magic too." She groaned then, as if recalling a distant memory. " _That_ proved especially useful when I was traveling across Antiva and Rivain during the peak of their summer weather...”

Leliana was remarkably impressed by such ingenuity. “And this doesn’t drain your energy?”

Niamh shrugged. “It’s negligible at best—no more different than me drawing breath. I probably wouldn’t be able to pull it off with several people however; my mana wouldn’t replenish itself nearly as quickly.” 

“And how long does this effect last?”

“As long as you’re within reach of my magic, I can continue rebuffing it if need be.”

“Then the distance from here to the main gate…?”

“I could still maintain it,” she reassured. “Once you pass my cabin, however, it’d likely break.”

Leliana hummed thoughtfully, hiding her smile. “But I still need to walk to the chantry to get to my chambers. Would you rather I be cold the remainder of the way?” she asked Niamh, who looked startled at the accusation.

“What? No! I—” Then, after a slow blink of realization, those pale eyes soon narrowed. “How did you manage to turn this entire conversation around on me?”

Leliana chuckled as she rose to her feet. “You haven’t been trained as a bard.” She smirked. “Or you’re merely more tired than you believe if you couldn’t find a suitable argument against me. Come.” 

She beckoned Niamh to follow, who did—albeit begrudgingly—once she picked up her staff and the returned wooden cylinder. For several heartbeats, only the sound of the snow crunching beneath their feet interrupted their otherwise companionable silence. As they approached the main gate, however, Leliana turned to her friend with a raised brow. “And I do expect you to return back to your cabin once you’ve escorted me back.”

Niamh raised her own brow in challenge as she replied dryly, “I suspect one of your spies would just tell you if I did otherwise.”

“You’re beginning to see how this works now. Good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The scenarios involving Butler and Painter are of my own creation FYI. Sometimes it's just really fun to deviate outside of canon. Lol.
> 
> If you've any questions, you're welcome to leave them down below or hit me up on [Tumblr.](https://morganaseren.tumblr.com)
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated! If you've already left kudos here, then even just a simple note telling me you're still reading this is enough honestly!


	11. You Sold Us Down the River Too Far

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After their return from Redcliffe, it's clear Niamh's chances of recruiting the rebel mages into the Inquisition are quickly dwindling. As she debriefs her War Council on the matter, a new ally is introduced. 
> 
> Along the way, Sera tries to wrap her head around the absolute oddity that is the Herald, and Leliana drops by to check on Niamh the night before she leaves to confront Alexius once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter took a bit longer to post because I had to get inside Sera's headspace to properly write in her POV. It wasn't easy obviously, but I needed the scene to set up a couple things later. Lol.

The situation in Redcliffe was… troubling to say the least. 

It was also giving her more of a headache than she truly needed, especially as her War Council argued amongst themselves. Leliana and Cullen were—once again—at odds with one another over which group to support whereas Josephine sought to provide a more objective view, but even Niamh could tell the woman’s near infinite patience was beginning to fray. 

“Even if we _could_ assault the keep, it would be naught,” the ambassador explained, frowning deeply at her fellow advisors. “An Orlesian Inquisition’s army marching into Ferelden would provoke a war. Our hands are tied!”

And her logic made a great deal of sense.

The two nations were on distant terms at best, given their deep history with one another. It had only been a decade ago that Loghain had brought up such divisions again, turning away desperately needed aid against the Blight simply because of their Orlesian roots. She'd wondered sometimes if more numbers could have prevented the utter devastation that befell Denerim. Could they have saved more lives with the services that had been offered? Would it have changed anything in the end?

At the back of her mind, she could still hear her sister’s final battle cry as she struck the Archdemon down.

Suddenly light-headed, Niamh rested a hand upon the map—leaning her weight upon it heavily to catch a breath—even as Cassandra spoke up in argument.

“You cannot possibly tell me you’re comfortable leaving a foreign power of that magnitude here! The magister—”

“—has outplayed us,” Cullen finished in a harsh clip. “Our chances of sealing the Breach may well be drawing to a close. We cannot afford to waste more time. Surely you can see we’ve only the Templars to turn to now.”

“No.” And with the weight of a single word, Niamh had the whole of the room looking to her for the first time since she began debriefing them on situation in Redcliffe. She winced internally at the sudden attention but continued on with a sigh. “Have you already forgotten the Lord Seeker abandoned Orlais? He saw it beneath his protection and openly denounced me and the Inquisition—both of which he sees as less than nothing.”

“But his men—”

“—did nothing,” interrupted Niamh much as Cullen had earlier to Cassandra, pointedly arching a brow at him. “One of his own struck a Revered Mother of the Chantry down in broad daylight, and none of the other Templars offered so much as a rebuke before they all retreated from the city. An ally who will not speak up against such transgressions is no ally at all as far as I’m concerned.” Her lips thinned when she saw the flush of anger overtaking his features.

“And what of the mages that rebelled in The Hinterlands?” Cullen demanded. “We’ve hundreds of refugees displaced because of their actions! Are you willing to see past their crimes as well?”

“Don’t act as if they were the only ones at fault, Commander,” she replied coolly, never so much as raising her voice against him. “The same can be said of your renegade Templars, who cut down anyone in their path for even the slightest notion of mage sympathy.”

Niamh called him only by his title just as Cullen only referred to her as Lady Cousland. In theory, it should have worked well as a sign of respect or a cleaning of the slate between them, but their last confrontation years ago had proven too deep a wound. Niamh couldn’t readily say if it would ever heal. _Let it fester then,_ she thought bitterly. _There’s too much at stake to do otherwise._

“The mages who rioted in The Hinterlands cut ties with Grand Enchanter Fiona’s group in Redcliffe when it became clear she wouldn’t seek retribution against the world they long saw as an enemy,” she said. “To my knowledge, the mages in the village haven’t attacked anyone. That speaks well of their temperament.”

Of course, that wasn’t to say there was an easy coexistence between the mages and Redcliffe’s residents. While some offered sympathy to their cause, there were others who were more on edge, uneasy with the notion of there being so many mages congregating in one place. 

And they had cause for such concerns, given their last experience with magic.

Meeting Connor there again had certainly been a surprise. 

He had grown into a capable young man although perhaps leery with displaying any use of his magic even amongst his people. She couldn’t fault him for his caution. He hadn’t wanted to return to Redcliffe at all, and he certainly hadn’t wanted the Circle to be disbanded, but with nowhere else to go, he followed his fellow mages. Guilt, however, had hung heavy around him like a noose as he walked the lands that had once been his entire world as a child. What sweet sense of nostalgia could have been awoken in him left promptly when he eyed the waters that had once run red with the blood he had shed upon their shores. 

When she had confronted the Desire Demon that had possessed Connor all those years ago and got her to relinquish its hold on him, the boy had lived, but after seeing him at that village again, she wondered if he had ever come to resent her for her mercy. 

_“I’ll forever be the boy with Redcliffe’s blood on his hands…”_

“Let’s not forget the fact that even with an ominous tear in the sky, the Templars chose inaction above all else,” she said, continuing on her previous argument without pause despite how unsettled she felt. “If they would not defend the institution they were sworn to protect or even the very people within it they were meant to serve, I cannot see them—the Lord Seeker especially—willing to work with me. Based on what I saw of them in Val Royeaux, they wouldn’t hesitate to use force against anyone, especially those unable to defend themselves.”

While Niamh may not have agreed with Revered Mother Hevara’s words, she certainly wouldn’t have wished violence upon her in such a way. 

“Surely some of them would be amenable to working with us,” Cullen tried again. “The Templars don’t accept just anyone into their ranks. These are men and women of great mental and physical fortitude!”

“Ah,” Niamh nodded, brows raising as she feigned mock-understanding. “And such discipline would surely be enough to keep them from drawing a sword on me when I did nothing but try and offer aid, yes?” she finished dryly. She saw Cassandra flinch out of the corner of her eye, but her gaze never left Cullen’s who soon drew his own away from her in what appeared to be shame. 

There was no doubt now that Niamh had neither forgotten or forgiven his actions.

“If…” Cullen’s eyes never left the table before them, but his voice had lost some of its hard edge. “If you go to Redcliffe, you’ll die, and we’ll lose the only means we have of closing these rifts. I won’t allow it.”

“My autonomy isn’t your choice, Commander,” she replied. That it was even a point of discussion did little to alleviate her current mood, and she didn't bother to hide it in her expression. “Unless I’ve somehow been oblivious while in hiding for the past decade, the general consensus on Thedas is that my people are barely even tolerated as a whole if not outright hated. Your suggestion that I approach one of the main military forces whose entire purpose is meant to subdue mages by any means necessary hardly gives me any confidence in the matter.” She moved a few of the unused map markers—the raven-like ones that Leliana favored—over Orlais and a few locations around Ferelden. 

“We have the support of the Chantry and the local populaces here now, yes, but that doesn’t change the fact that I—a mage—am somehow still the figurehead to this Inquisition. That alone is something they won’t take kindly to.” Niamh knew from his expression that he wasn’t willing to let the matter go, and so she sighed deeply. “Commander, if you've any evidence other than your gut instinct I won’t have my magic suppressed or be outright skewered by arrows or any number of weapons upon entering those gates, then by all means, show it to me.”

She waited several heartbeats for him to offer anything to her, but when they passed in sullen silence, she continued on with a small, satisfied nod.

“Good. I’m not going to continue to argue over the Templars with you.”

“Lady Cousland?” Cassandra called to her hesitantly then, and she turned her attention to the other woman. “While I understand the Commander’s feelings on the matter, is there still not a chance we could be walking into a trap with this magister as well? Him specifically asking to meet you alone for negotiations is one matter, but the former Grand Enchanter admitting she never recalled meeting you in Val Royeaux is suspicious enough, is it not?”

“Yes, but that’s hardly her fault if she’s been manipulated as deeply as I believe she has.”

“And you would have us believe what then?” Cullen asked derisively. “That the magister or any of his new mage allies have somehow managed to find a way to distort time and _that's_ how he managed to take the rebels out from under you?” Incredulity seeped through every word he spoke—along with the barest fragments of fear—and Niamh could hardly blame him.

What they saw in Redcliffe spelled absolute disaster if Alexius could harness such an ability for his own purposes. 

“You weren’t there, Commander. You didn’t see the rifts we closed along the way to the village. The ones closest to it were clearly distorting the space around them in unnatural ways. There were witnesses outside our party from the village guard who saw it as well.”

“But you would still trust the closing of the Breach to the mages with the clear threat they now pose?”

“I’m not convinced Fiona’s group is in any way connected to the time distortion. Remember: they’ve only recently broken away from the Chantry and the very institution that has kept them in place since the reign of Emperor Drakon. It’s already an unprecedented moment in history, but they’re very much in the infancy of their independence.” Niamh rested an elbow in the palm of her hand as she reached up to rub at one of her temples, trying to quell her headache. “With numbers like theirs, I’m not surprised at the lack of oversight over any possible issues they could be causing in Redcliffe, especially if they’ve yet to set up a hierarchy beyond having the former Grand Enchanter at its head.” She shrugged. “After my meeting with her, however, I had a chance to meet with many of her people.”

It was likely her own status as a mage that had even granted her such an audience with them. Most had seemed reluctant to speak to anyone, even Redcliffe’s own residents. With Niamh, however, they had seen one of their own raised to power and respected. She hadn’t disclosed that hadn’t always been the case, but drawing them into conversation was her best chance at determining what all had happened to them since the Circle’s dissolution. 

“If anything, the majority seemed largely unhappy they’ve been signed away into servitude without any chance for input otherwise.”

“Why join the magister at all then?” asked Cassandra, brows furrowing in confusion.

“[They likely saw no other choice.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=987xHnVfRI4) You have to realize that while Ferelden’s King and Queen may have offered refuge, Fiona’s mages don’t have any further resources needed to sustain a population of their size. Some have never known life outside the Circle, and some had never wanted to abandon it to begin with. It was either join in secession or be left to fend for themselves.” She frowned. “As a whole, there are few among them who have any marketable trade skills to even start a new life.” 

Turning to anyone—perhaps the only one then—who had offered aid seemed a logical choice as any, but as she recalled further conversations, which showed the mages’ discontent with the situation, Niamh revealed something equally troubling. 

“Given how he was behaving, it seems Alexius and his Tevinter accomplices have the most to benefit from the situation, but it was only made possible because he allowed several of his own mages to infiltrate the ranks of the rebels.”

“You’re certain of this, my lady?” Josephine asked, quickly writing down a note on her parchment board.

Niamh merely nodded. “Yes, I’ve several eyewitness accounts. As chaotic as the Circle of Magi’s disbandment was, it would’ve brought together mages from all ends of Thedas to The Conclave. Add in more than a handful of apostates whom have no history to any Circle but have an apparent interest in a future of equality for all mages, and you at least have a viable connection to start some semblance of familiarity,” she explained, but she bit down the urge to grind down on her teeth in frustration. “That the Venatori preyed on that trust for their own purposes is rather damning as far as morality goes...”

“Wait.” Leliana spoke up then. “Did you say the Venatori?”

Niamh blinked. “Yes. Alexius’ son along with his former apprentice confirmed the Venatori are Tevinter imperialists—no less than a cult truly. They seem to have an invested interest in me, which I assumed had to do with my ability to close rifts, but as to why they went to so much trouble to recruit the mages in Redcliffe right from under us, I couldn’t say. Why do you ask?” She tilted her head in question, but when her Spymaster merely narrowed her eyes tellingly, Niamh’s own slowly widened. “You found something in your investigation?”

“What?” Cullen looked between them, clearly perplexed. “What investigation?” 

“There’s a traitor within my network."

“What?! Why were the rest of us not informed of this then?” he demanded. 

“For the same reason Leliana wouldn’t approach you in regards to any sensitive military operations regarding your soldiers; they are not a part of her responsibilities just as her spies aren’t yours.” Niamh never once turned her head to address him. She kept her eyes instead on Leliana—who seemed almost amused she’d come in defense of her—but her words were no less reprimanding to the Commander. “And I suspect she needed more time to gather the information we needed.”

Leliana tipped her head to her then, impressed. “As you say, my lady.” She turned to the rest of their colleagues. “The double agent in question isn’t on any missions related to our current objective, but that these Venatori have grounds in Tevinter at least gives me an idea as to when and where he decided to betray me. I don’t know the _why_ to his motivations as of yet, but I suspect I’ll find out soon enough,” she muttered solemnly while writing a small note on a piece of parchment paper to be delivered to one of her agents later.

“Hopefully you’ll find something of interest by the time I return from Redcliffe then.”

To Niamh’s words, Josephine’s expression filled with great concern, pausing briefly in her writing to address her. “But marching there in force would spell a diplomatic disaster, my lady!”

“True, but we hardly need an army for this—Orlesian or otherwise. While the Commander is right in that the castle has repelled innumerable assaults by invading forces—” She looked fleetingly to Leliana again, who was beginning to smile, likely having determined her plan. “—as I recall from our adventures a decade ago, we only needed a handful of individuals to retake it. Leliana, do you know if the pathway we took to get inside is still usable?”

“As it’s used as an escape route for the family in times of emergency, I imagine so. It would be too narrow for our troops to navigate, but I can certainly get my agents inside without trouble.”

Cullen frowned, his unease still evident. “But wouldn’t they just be discovered before reaching the magister?”

“Normally, yes.” Leliana gestured to Niamh with a nod of her head. “But that’s precisely why we’d need a distraction.”

Niamh rolled her shoulders in a mild shrug as the remainder of her advisors turned to look at her. “Alexius _did_ ask for an envoy after all. Whatever his plans are with Redcliffe’s mages, we can only assume it involves me somehow. With his attention turned away, however, it should give your agents time to take out enemy reinforcements within the castle before doubling back to rendezvous with my diversion team.” 

It was then she began to see Cullen’s shoulders relaxing in several small increments. His eyes filled with a new determined light, finally beginning to see the merits of their plan—enough to believe it could actually work—and she smiled. 

“But as we are dealing with Tevinter mages, I’ve obtained an expert to explain how to best get past their defenses.” 

When her advisors started in place at the sound of doors to the War Room suddenly swinging open, Niamh had remained nonplussed. She needn’t have glanced over her shoulder to know that Dorian had strode in with easy confidence to stand next to her, eying them all with gleeful amusement. Hiding a smile, she held out a hand to motion toward her latest companion.

“May I introduce Dorian of House Pavus?”

“Most recently of Minrathous,” he finished. Dorian grinned winsomely at Cullen, who had frowned deeply at that revelation, likely realizing then where he had hailed from. Hardly the least bit perturbed by the Commander, however, he soon turned back to her. “I don’t suppose you explained the mage from Tevinter and magister of the Magisterium bit yet?”

Niamh chuckled. “It didn’t really come up in conversation. In any case, Dorian, you’ll be working closely with Leliana’s agents regarding anything we might encounter now that Alexius has control of the castle.” She watched as the mage nodded politely to Leliana, who returned the gesture with a careful, neutral expression. “Truly, take all the time you need to debrief. Once you’re both satisfied the information’s been efficiently retained, we can proceed with our plans. Understood?” She was satisfied when she received a chorus of confirmations. 

“Oh! Can we talk about my accommodations while we’re here?” Dorian asked then. “Could you at least give me something more lively to spruce up my tent? Our location here is already depressing enough to look at,” he bemoaned before releasing a long-suffering sigh. “Truly, I sometimes wonder how you Southerners put up with such dreadful weather. Is that why you’re all as ornery as you are? It would explain so many things honestly...”

From the expressions on Cullen and Cassandra’s faces, Niamh could already tell Dorian wouldn’t be making anything beyond a distant acquaintanceship with them anytime soon. From their travel back to Haven together, she knew this was his way of testing boundaries, especially given his Tevinter roots. She shook her head in mild fondness, but she was pleased to see that Josephine was adapting to the situation with ease, drawing Dorian into conversation to make him feel more welcome. 

Niamh felt another’s gaze on her then, however, and she turned to see Leliana staring at her beneath the shadows of her cowl.

 _You trust this one then?_ those blue eyes asked, unblinking.

Niamh inclined her head minutely. _I wouldn’t willingly put you or your agents in danger if I thought otherwise._

* * *

Sera thought Niamh was a bit of an oddball honestly.

She was Andraste’s Herald, but wasn't it such a hilarious kick in the pants that the woman wasn’t even the least bit religious? She snickered, betting the tits in the Chantry had choked on a big, stiff one when Niamh had told them that. 

Sera also had some other Jennies check her out beforehand though. Had to be careful about who she was joining up with after all.

Apparently, Niamh came from some pretty posh, noble stock. Normally, that’d be enough to steer her away from offering any of her services, but her contact also mentioned Niamh had been taken away to Ferelden’s Circle as a child when her magic manifested. As a mage, she would have lost any and all claims and titles attached to the Cousland land. That anyone in her inner circle called her ‘Lady Cousland’ at all was merely out of respect since Niamh didn’t much care for being referred to as the Herald of Andraste.

Niamh looked like nobility, yeah, but she definitely didn’t act like any one of the prissy nobles she had seen around Val Royeaux. Case in point: when Sera had watched from the rooftops as Niamh walked into the Summer Bazaar, she hadn’t once tried to use that “Do you know who I am?” shite that every uppercrusted tit seemed to be familiar with. 

If anything, Niamh had seemed uneasy at the crowd’s size, but her voice was calm as she tried to explain her intent was merely to fix the hole in the sky. Should have been a friggin’ concern to everyone in Sera’s opinion, but no! The Chantry git in the stupid hat still tried to turn everyone against the only person who was just clearly trying to help. 

Then, after trying to sic the Chantry attack dogs on them, the woman had caught what looked like a painful blow to the back of her head by one of those said dogs. Instead of acting pleased at how the tables had clearly turned, Niamh had angrily criticized the Lord Wanker for his actions before turning to attend to the injured woman once she made sure the Templars wouldn’t be causing more trouble in the packed plaza. 

That had impressed Sera—enough that she was willing to offer her skills should Niamh need them. Then, when the other woman had arrived at their meeting location later than evening, she’d been even more impressed.

It had been clear Niamh was used to being in the line of fire.

Literally.

The noble she had sent Niamh after had conjured several blasts of fire upon her arrival, but the woman had merely dodged the first one with negligent ease. She never even flinched. In fact, she hadn’t bothered pulling out her staff during the entirety of their confrontation. When another fireball was sent her way, she merely waved a hand, and the attack had disappeared in a shower of icy crystals, cooling the immediate area around them as well as Niamh’s own expression. 

And then Sir McNoble Pants started monologuing, and the woman couldn’t have looked more unimpressed if she tried. Thankfully, they got rid of him and his cronies easily enough, and while Niamh had seemed largely curious about her intentions to join the Inquisition, her questions hadn’t been rude. The other woman hadn’t drawn attention to the fact she was an elf, and she didn’t stare through her like the other pompous snobs in Val Royeaux did. If anything, she seemed pleased to have the extra help.

So, yeah, Niamh was different. A good kind of different though.

…even if she did use magic.

She was kind, too, but over the weeks, Sera had noticed her reactions around regular people—crowds especially. When they had returned from Val Royeaux, Niamh had become increasingly more withdrawn as they approached Haven. As they entered through the main gates and passed the groups of well-wishers in front of the tavern, Niamh had shifted her path so that she was using the bulk of the Cassandra’s armored body to distance herself from them. Niamh politely waved to the ones that had celebrated her safe return as the women made their way to the chantry to debrief her War Council, but she otherwise didn’t interact with them very much.

If anything, they seemed to scare her with how often she avoided them. 

Baffled, Sera had asked Flissa about it once, and the woman’s eyes had widened, nearly dropping the drink she had delivered to her table. Nervously, the woman had looked to and fro around them before leaning in to whisper what had happened to Niamh not long after the explosion at The Conclave, and by the end of it, Sera had felt her face pucker up more than Vivvy’s usual expression.

What they did to Niamh hadn’t been at all right. 

As such, when the other woman had begun dropping by the tavern more frequently to see her, Sera always made sure they got the corner table next to the window. That way, Niamh could see all sides of the room and wouldn’t worry about anyone getting the jump on her. If Niamh was willing to push aside her fear of crowds just to check in on her, then the least she could do was make her feel a little more comfortable. After awhile it seemed to help; Niamh wasn’t as tense anymore. 

Looking up, Sera saw a familiar head of dark hair and realized Niamh had finally gotten out of her meeting. She watched as Niamh nodded politely at a few of the tavern patrons who offered their greetings but didn’t otherwise stop the long, graceful strides she took to reach the table. As she finally sat down, those pale eyes had blinked, apparently surprised to see there was already a cup sitting in front of her.

“Tea, yeah?” Sera asked. “That’s your thing, innit?”

The corners of Niamh’s lips turned up into a small smile, touched. “You remembered.”

“Course I did.” How could she not? Whenever they made camp at night, the other woman practically inhaled the stuff like a fish to water. Didn’t know why. It was just hot, leaf juice as far as she was concerned, but it made Niamh happy. “So what did you want to talk about? We still going after the mages, yeah?”

Niamh sipped at her tea, humming pleasantly in answer. “We are.” It only took another moment or two for the other woman’s expression to fill with concern. Sera could always tell when she got those little furrows between her eyebrows. “You’re still certain you want to go? Dorian is accompanying us as our Tevinter expert, and as Lady Vivienne is…” Niamh trailed off with a wince. “…skeptical of his intentions at best, she also insisted on coming along. As well as those two get along with one another—” Translation: they didn’t. “—I can’t imagine the journey to and from Redcliffe is going to very fun. I won’t take it personally if you’d prefer to back out.”

It was a good argument, but Sera knew what Niamh was doing. 

Niamh was smart. The “I break my fast by eating books!” type of smart. The other woman likely knew that magic was weird to her, but Sera didn’t hate Niamh. Sera just didn’t understand her power, and anything that couldn’t be readily understood was scary sometimes. 

But Niamh didn’t use her magic to intimidate people. Not like the other mages she’d come across in Orlais. In fact, Niamh rarely used her magic at all outside of battle or training. She was plenty capable with just that staff of hers.

* * *

_Out of curiosity, Sera had asked to hold it once because she had never seen a mage’s staff up close, and she had never seen one quite like hers. The head of Vivvy’s staff was more elegant with its curves, and Dorian’s was simplistic but no less grand in its craftsmanship._

_Both exemplified their owners in some way, but Niamh’s was blunt in a way that the mage clearly wasn’t. Both ends of her staff held weaponized weights, but their edges were blocky and flat. It couldn’t impale anything like the sharp staff points Vivvy and Dorian preferred for theirs, but Sera imagined it’d still hurt if someone got smacked in the face with one of those._

_While Niamh had been bemused by her request at first, she still held out her staff for Sera to take._

_And Sera had nearly fallen flat on her face with it._

_“Shite!” she had cursed with a yelp, caught off guard with the unexpected weight of it. She had to hold the blasted thing with both hands to keep from toppling over again. “How the frig do you cast spells with this when it’s so friggin’ heavy?!”_

_Sera had seen the woman wield it effortlessly before in battle. There was never any stiffness in her movements. Every gesture was always fluid and self-assured—like the staff might as well have been as light as a feather in her hands._

_But Niamh had merely blinked at her in confusion. “Momentum, I suppose, as well as practice? The point was to make sure no one knew I was a mage, so I had to ensure I knew how to protect myself without magic.”_

_Looking at her alone, Niamh seemed like a slight woman, but given the heavy leather coat she always wore, it was harder for Sera to imagine just what type of physique she had if she used such a staff like this on a regular basis. Her arms at least must’ve been rock solid. She wondered if she could outpunch the Seeker if pressed. She’d have to find a way to get them to test that out sometime. Still, Sera narrowed her eyes at her suspiciously._

_“You telling me this ain’t the least bit heavy for you?”_

_“I got used to it.”_

_“Friggin’ oddball.”_

* * *

“Gotta show you mages up somehow,” she replied playfully to Niamh’s question. Sera tilted her head then. “That the only reason you came here though?”

“Well, not quite…” Sera started to worry when Niamh became more hesitant to talk. In fact, she seemed almost embarrassed. “Could you… Would you be willing to show me how to make arrows?”

 _That,_ she hadn’t expected. 

“Uh…” Sera idly scratched at her head in confusion. “Unless you’ve been really good at hiding it the past couple of weeks, you ain’t an archer, yeah? Unless you’re using your staff as a bow or something?” Sera’s eyes widened, and she leaned in closer. “Wait. Is that a thing? Can you actually shoot arrows with your magic somehow?”

“What? No!” Niamh retorted, utterly baffled. “It’s just… It’s for a friend. She did something to help me sometime back, and I owe her some arrows.”

“Well, if she’s an archer, she can make her own, right?” She shrugged. “Or just buy some off a merchant if she’s being a lazy arse.”

“Yes, but I thought it would mean more if I made them myself…” But just as quickly as Niamh started speaking, her words slowly began to trail off uncertainly. Sera was still lost over this whole conversation, but it seemed like the other woman had taken her lack of words as an answer of rejection. “Oh, nevermind. It was a daft idea to begin with,” she murmured, keeping her eyes away from her as she made to leave the table.

Nope, nope. Now Sera was going to feel bad for making the sad, magic woman even sadder.

“Wait, wait! Don’t get your knickers in a twist! Didn’t say I wouldn’t help, now did I?” she asked, and she waited until Niamh reluctantly sat back down again. Sera nodded then, satisfied. “Okay. So these arrows, yeah? Who are they for?” she asked, drinking from her mug of spiced wine.

“Leliana.”

And Sera nearly choked on her drink. Damn if the tavern’s brew didn’t friggin’ burn if it went down the wrong way.

“Hold it! Back up!” she exclaimed hoarsely once she got over her sudden coughing fit, eyes still watering. “You talking about Knifey Shiv-dark??”

Niamh’s dark brows knitted together. “Yes…?” she confirmed almost hesitantly as if she was trying to match the nickname to the Inquisition’s intimidating Spymaster. 

Right. Leliana. The same woman who set up a workstation in front of the bleeding chantry like a daft bugger. Who did that honestly? Sera’d be freezing her tits and arse off if she’d done the same thing. She shivered at the thought as the other woman continued talking. 

“When we took down a demon together some time ago, I ended up incinerating her arrows by accident right after she blinded it.” Her fingernails tapped nervously around her cup of tea. “I thought if I could make some on my own—and perhaps find a way to enchant them—she wouldn’t have to end up replacing them as much.”

“You know how to enchant things?”

“Well, no,” she admitted reluctantly. “But I thought I could ask Ambassador Montilyet or Lady Vivienne if they might know anyone among their contacts who would be willing to help with that.”

Sera blew a long raspberry that ended in a string of laughter as she waved her hand dismissively. “Right, no. Don’t bother going to them. In fact, don’t you worry your Harry Harold head off.” The ridiculous nickname pulled more of a genuine smile out of Niamh, and Sera was glad for it. “I know a Jenny who can help.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. I mean, I don’t use enchantments myself obviously. Don’t really understand the stuff, but some of the other Jennies swear by it.” She felt her own smile growing as she watched Niamh do the same. Her lips parted as if to thank her, but then—

“Praise be to our beloved Herald!”

Niamh had been outright startled out of answering when one of the tavern’s regulars bellowed his praise upon noticing her there. The woman had blinked and raised her hand almost tentatively in acknowledgement, which seemed to appease the man as he headed off to his table of companions, but then Niamh had hunched her head and shoulders back down as if she was trying to disappear into the corner. Sera frowned at that, concerned.

“They haven’t bothered you again, yeah? No more stones and such?”

“No,” she murmured with a half-smile that didn’t quite reach those pretty, silver eyes. “It’s silly; I know. Some of them have already apologized, but… it’s not always easy to forget how willing they were to hurt me back then.” She sighed. “I understand why they felt the need to do so, but I don’t think it’s unreasonable for me to be the slightest bit wary of their intentions. Honestly, sometimes I wonder if they’re only apologizing to me because of my title or if they’re actually the least bit remorseful.”

Sera frowned even more deeply. Little People could suck as much as Big People sometimes, but someone nice like Niamh didn’t deserve to live her life constantly looking over her friggin’ shoulder. 

They needed to fix that. 

Having finished their drinks, Sera quickly pulled Niamh out the door. “You know what this situation calls for? Payback.”

Niamh seemed apprehensive however. “Sera, my being wary of the people here doesn’t mean that I would wish harm on them.”

“No harm at all!” Sera reassured. “Look, remember how we met? With the idiot I didn’t know for manners?” Niamh just merely nodded slowly. “And how I breached their breeches? We’ll do that! Imagine it!” She placed a hand on the woman’s shoulder and emphatically waved her other hand out to the cabins and tents beyond them. “Smallclothes on every door and tent flap! ‘Whose breeches are they?’ they ask. ‘Who knows?’ I say!” She paused, shrugging. 

“Or if they somehow didn’t have breeches before—the weird buggers—they do now! Little bit of fun, see? Just enough to keep people wondering about the mystery, and you get to realize that people can just be people. Stupid people maybe, but still people.” She gently elbowed Niamh in the side. “C’mon! Y’know you want to!” Sera sing-songed with the most winsome smile.

Niamh opened her mouth as if to protest, but Sera caught the tiny waver at the edge of her lips as she tried not to smile, and the validation of it thrilled her! She knew she had a fellow prankster on her hands even if Niamh didn’t necessarily act on it. 

Sera had seen it when they had been caught out in the rain on their way back Haven. 

Niamh had taken to the constant downpour like a duck to water—the weirdo—but Dorian had complained the entire way through, moreso than the rest of their party. When they had been drying off at camp that night, Sera had seen the barest hint of a mischievous smile as Niamh used a little force magic to gently push the water from her clothing. That Dorian had been sitting in front of her—desperately trying to dry his hair—it almost seemed like she had wanted to douse the other mage with it.

But—to Sera’s disappointment—the water had just been ejected back to the soaked ground around them, and Niamh had simply retreated back to her tent for the evening after dinner. 

But this! This changed everything!

“Ha!” she crowed with delight. “Knew it! Knew I was right about you!” Sera grinned while Niamh could only laugh helplessly, aware now that she’d been caught.

“Look,” she began, still chuckling, “don’t tell anyone you heard it from me, but if you _are_ going off on this little raid of yours tonight, just put what you find in a bag and have one of the runners deliver it to Leliana. She’ll know what to do with them.”

Both of Sera’s brows raised to almost her hairline at that. “Yeah? Sounds like a right story there.”

“Hm. Maybe I’ll tell you a bit of that over some arrow-making lessons, yes? My cabin after supper?”

“Absolutely! There’s no way I’m missing this! Hey. You want in on the fun?” she asked. “Bet we can find some fancy underthings from your ambassador,” she added, brows waggling, trying to sweeten the deal.

Niamh offered only a mild grin. “Perhaps next time. I wouldn’t want to slow down your efforts. I’m not nearly as stealthy as you rogues after all.”

Sera pursed her lips, deeply doubting that. Despite the fact the woman’s staff was probably a boulder magically disguised in stick form, Niamh always seemed very light on her feet, but she wouldn’t push it.

“Right, right. Maybe I’ll just start collecting them tonight and just hold off on giving them to Knifey Shiv-dark until we get back, yeah? I want to see my handiwork in action.”

“As you wish.” Niamh turned her eyes skyward briefly, considering something. “Ah. If you run into any trouble from Leliana though, just tell her it was my idea. She wouldn’t think it too odd.”

Sera’s curiosity was definitely piqued by then. She couldn't wait for night to fall. “Oh, this is going to be good!” she giggled maniacally.

* * *

In the end, it had only taken Dorian another day for him to fully prepare Leliana’s agents for what they were likely up against. 

As such, after she and Dorian had debriefed Niamh on the situation, the woman had personally written a letter to Alexius, telling him she would be pleased to discuss further matters of negotiation with him. Niamh had then given the message to Josie for further review, but their ambassador had seemed most pleased at the polite formality in which it was written. It had required no further editing on her part, and with her approval, Leliana had attached the letter to one of her most trusted ravens to be delivered to Redcliffe.

Evening had fallen by the time Leliana had a chance to step out of the chantry and make her way down toward Niamh’s cabin. The woman was scheduled to leave the following morning with her party, and she felt the need to check on her. While several precautions had been taken into account, this was all still an incredibly risky maneuver, and it left Niamh in the middle of potential chaos if even one thing went wrong.

As Leliana reached the bottom of the stone steps, she heard a door closing up ahead, and she was vaguely surprised to see Sera leaving Niamh’s cabin. The other woman seemed equally startled at her presence, but after a moment, she grinned, jovially jogging past her with clear mischief in her eyes. She raised a brow at that.

The woman was planning something. As to what, she likely wouldn’t learn of it until later if her past reports regarding Sera’s antics were any indication.

In any case, she continued on to Niamh’s cabin, knocking politely and entering once she heard the confirmation of welcome.

“Did you forget some—Oh.” Niamh looked up briefly from where she sat on the bed, sketching something. Upon seeing Leliana at the doorway, however, the practiced motions of her charcoal pencil stopped against the parchment of her book. 

“I haven’t seen you do that in some time,” Leliana remarked, moving closer, and Niamh shifted herself further along the bed, inviting her to sit next to her. 

“Ah. I still practice it when I’m outside the village.”

Yet, it wasn’t a portrait or even the more detailed sketches of fauna or flora sitting on the page—the types of subjects that Niamh tended to favor. Leliana leaned in closer and saw that the other woman seemed to be drawing designs of some sort. They all ran in thin parallel lines across the parchment, making use of silhouetted imagery and the concept of both positive and negative space rather than anything truly elaborate:

A bird with a line a fire following in the wake of its wings.

A wolf padding across snowy terrain, leaving behind icy pawprints.

An ominous cloud of thunder that spanned from one side of the page to the other, with long, intricate chains of lightning spreading out beneath it.

“Not your usual work, I see.”

“It’s for a project I’d like to work on once I return from Redcliffe. I feel I may need something relaxing to look forward to once this whole matter is sorted,” she said, idly flexing the fingers of her left hand, as if relieving herself of the stiffness in its joints.

Leliana couldn’t help but turn her attention to it as well. The green that filled Niamh’s palm was muted in its glow, and she wondered if it was an indication of the Breach’s state or a reflection of the woman’s own mood. 

“It doesn’t have any of the answers you’d seek.” The words caused Leliana to look up, where she could see the amusement in Niamh’s gaze. “Believe you me, I’d love nothing more than to shake it about and suddenly have the solutions to all my plights written across my palm, but alas, that is not the case.”

The absurdity of the image caused her to huff out a brief string of laughter. “Brat,” she murmured, the teasing nickname coming easily off her lips, and it only served to widen Niamh’s smirk further. “I was wondering if it was causing you pain.”

“Hm. Not as of late. I don’t expect that to last indefinitely however.” Niamh closed her sketchbook and placed it atop the bedside table. She returned her gaze back to Leliana then, seemingly curious. “Did you come here to check on me?”

Leliana worked her jaw over pensively before carefully responding. “Barring that situation with the Breach and the demons it spawned, I haven’t been on the field in years. This won’t be like our travels together back then. I won’t be there to help see it through.” 

Despite the confidence she gave in her agents’ respective abilities to handle the situation, Leliana couldn’t guarantee the outcome of it. It was a fact that grated on her endlessly.

“If you trained them, then I’ve no doubt I’ll be in good hands. Alexius seems to be the larger threat here, and as he’ll be occupied with me, it will give your spies all the time needed to play their part.” Gently, she placed a hand over one of Leliana’s leather spaulders, pale eyes turning steel-like in their profound sincerity. “While I can’t promise this will be an easy mission, I’ll do my best to ensure your agents return safely.”

Leliana couldn’t help but smile at her reassurance.

Even after all this time, it seemed Niamh could still be as kind to a fault. During their adventures together, if one of their companions had been hurt, the mage had felt it as if the wound had been inflicted upon her as well. Compassion lingered within her—tried as she might to hide it from others. 

In comparison, Leliana had wondered where her own had retreated to over the years. Had it also gone up in flames alongside Saoirse’s pyre all those years ago? Did it dwell within her still, buried in depths she felt she could no longer navigate? Was there anything left at all of the young bard within her who had once preached non-violent means to an end? Rather than delve into increasingly uncomfortable questions, she rested a gloved hand over Niamh’s own.

“You’ll be careful, won’t you?” 

Amusement danced across the surface of silvery eyes—breaking the gravity of the moment—as Niamh arched a brow. “When have you ever known me to be reckless?”

“Your answer doesn’t fill me with confidence,” she drawled, unimpressed.

“You wound me so.” Despite her words, Niamh’s voice was all light laughter. She shook her head. “No, if this all goes well, you shouldn’t notice my absence for very long, and then we’ll finally have allies who can aid me in closing the Breach. We’ll be one step closer to ending this nonsense once and for all.”

Leliana wondered if it could truly be that easy however. 

Even with the Breach sealed, where would that leave Niamh next? Would she leave them once the world was no longer in danger? Would her Mark finally fade, ending the threat on her life? Would it continue to linger on afterward instead, an illness that would simply kill her in increments rather than with flashes of brimstone and fire? For every answer she had, there were more questions than she truly cared for—a bane for any Spymaster.

But she couldn’t voice these concerns—not when Niamh already had enough to deal with. She could only nod, trusting in her words.

“Then I’ll pray for your safe return.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you guys prefer longer chapters like this? I knew this fic started off at about _maybe_ 2k words on average, but I feel like longer content gives you all something to look forward while also advancing the plot a little faster.
> 
> Thoughts or comments on the matter? Let me know!
> 
> If you've any questions, you're welcome to leave them down below or hit me up on [Tumblr.](https://morganaseren.tumblr.com)
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated! If you've already left kudos here, then even just a simple note telling me you're still reading this is enough honestly!


	12. We Slip Away and We Are Unafraid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Niamh and Dorian find themselves in a twisted future beyond all imagining.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My only excuse for taking this long to update was that it really hurt my soul to write this. Future Redcliffe is hard, y'all!

Niamh coughed heavily as the guards’ charred corpses fell into the darkness of the the stagnant water around them. The cell they were in was practically flooded up to their waists, and each movement they made only allowed the pervasive, rank stench to waft up around them. There was little they could do to remediate that—even with magic—so they both pressed forward, wading carefully past the now open door.

“Dorian, where—no, let me rephrase that— _when_ are we?” she demanded, eying the stone walls around them with no small amount of trepidation.

She knew them for what they were. 

Niamh had walked these very halls before almost what felt like a lifetime ago, but that adventure and even her most recent return to the castle paled in comparison to the foreboding atmosphere surrounding them now. It hung thick in the air, almost oppressive in how it stuck cloyingly inside her lungs with each breath. She had almost assumed the sensation to be from the disturbing multitude of red lyrium stalagmites around them, but Niamh had been in the presence of so many more at the Breach. 

No. Something else was at work here, and it was unlike anything she had ever experienced. The tangibility of it disturbed her magical senses so much that it settled across her mind like tar. 

“You feel it too then,” he said, taking her hand gratefully when he nearly tripped over something unseen in the dark waters. “As Alexius set off his spell inside the castle, we’re likely to still be in it, but the when is certainly the bigger concern.” He frowned, taking in their surroundings. “I can’t even begin to tell if we’ve been moved forward or backward in time.”

“Equally bad options either way,” she muttered as she arched a brow at him. “What in the world was he trying to accomplish?”

Dorian merely chuckled. “My friend, for as much as Alexius planned, he knew he’d been outplayed by you, but I suppose he didn’t know the extent of it until his Venatori had lain dead around him. You made him reckless—enough that he tossed us into the rift well before he was ready.”

“And your countering of it with your own magic…?”

“Likely made the rift even more unstable, which leaves us in our current and rather unfortunate predicament,” he finished with a sigh. 

At the very sound of it, Niamh couldn’t stop her own from escaping her. She’d hoped she’d been wrong. Alexius’ trap had been expected as had been his ability to subvert the very nature of time to his whims, but to actually have been _caught_ in it? How could anyone plan for such a contingency?

Worse, with no knowledge as to where they were in time, she and Dorian couldn’t safely bide their way through. If they were too far into the past, they’d risk years or even decades passing them by before the Breach’s actual appearance, but if they were somewhere in the future, it meant doom if not outright destruction. While the Breach had been relatively stable since her last attempt at sealing it, she knew that wouldn’t be the case for long. Without access to the Mark on her palm, the Inquisition would be without any options to deal with such an eventuality.

Would the Breach then steadily grow larger, or would it become like the rifts Alexius could summon on command—dangerously unstable?

Niamh still remembered the fearsome Pride demon she and her party had encountered before, and their numbers almost hadn’t been enough to subdue it. She couldn’t imagine how other forces around Thedas would have fared if such a creature—and likely many more of its brethren—freely walked the world.

“This castle has seen better days, but they must still have records of some nature here—enough to give us a date to work with if nothing else,” she reasoned as she found a set of stairs that would lead them out of the dungeons. “And if we’re near the cellars, we could certainly see if they’ve left any wine about if nothing else. It’s starting to vastly feel like one of those drinking days,” she remarked dryly.

“I _knew_ there was a reason I liked you.”

* * *

As they continued their explorations, they encountered scattered groups of Venatori but not nearly as many as she had expected. It should have been concerning, considering the numbers she saw milling about the audience chamber before she and Dorian had been thrown through the rift. As they came across the prisoners their enemy kept within the dungeons, however, she understood why.

Niamh remembered speaking to some of them within the village before she had departed back to Haven. They were familiar faces, but their expressions were far gaunter and slacker as they sat within their cells, staring blankly into nothingness no matter how much she tried to prod them for the answers she was in desperate need of. 

Others had been more active in their mannerisms, but it was madness that sat lonely on their tongues. It had been as evident as the red of the lyrium which practically spilled from their eyes or the abuse which clearly marked their broken bodies. In one way or another, they had all lost their minds to whatever cruel tortures they had endured under the Venatori. 

In the end, it hadn’t even mattered when she and Dorian opened their cells. They gave no recognition of their freedom. Within their cages they still remained, imprisoned mentally just as much as physically. As such, they had no choice but to leave them behind as she continued the search for her companions.

The ones who Fiona had weakly mentioned were still alive.

* * *

When she heard the telltale murmurs of a poem being recited, Niamh almost mistook it for the lunacy of another maddened prisoner, but the familiar scattering of curses interspersed between the lines filled her with a sudden, buoyant hope. She dashed ahead, following the sound to the only occupied cell in the room, but what she saw within caused her heart to sink immediately. 

Sera stood within the cell, yes, but she gazed back at Niamh with as much horror as she herself felt. 

Her friend had all the telltale signs of malnourishment and maltreatment, but the effects of the red lyrium poisoning were far more advanced on her than any other prisoner—save for Fiona—they’d come across thus far. Sera’s eyes were wide, the whites of them nearly overtaken by the eerie crimson glow that had replaced the once dark grey hue of her pupils. When she began speaking, protesting Niamh’s presence—objecting to the very notion she could possibly be there with her—it was like the lyrium forced through her veins _sang._ Her voice continually echoed back on itself in an otherworldly manner as she retreated further into the cell, running bone-thin fingers through matted blonde hair, which had grown long and shaggy from months of inadequate care. 

Niamh kept her steps small and slow as she approached Sera, who had backed herself up against the large lyrium stalagmite behind her as if it would somehow save her from the specter she was convinced was before her. “Sera?” she called, softening her voice.

“N-no! No! You can’t be here!” she replied hysterically. “You’re dead, and they don’t come back!” Her voice broke upon the words even as her eyes filled with tears yet to be shed. “And why would you? Why me? Why would you come here to me when I… when I failed you so badly?” she asked—inconsolable—as she gradually slid to the ground. 

Much as Niamh would have tried to argue otherwise, she understood the implausibility presented before her friend. In this world, Niamh had already been gone a year—long enough that it now sat on the very brink of destruction. For Sera to have endured that knowledge—and relived every moment of her supposed failure—she might as well have been as good as dead in her mind. 

By no fault of her own, Niamh had still left her friend to face this world alone.

“Sera.” She knelt before her, but the other woman refused to raise her head. “Sera, look at me. Please?” she entreated quietly, and Niamh waited when those bloodshot eyes hesitantly peaked out from over the crest of her knees, which she held tightly to her chest. Niamh’s gaze softened. 

“The day before we left for Redcliffe, do you remember when we had drinks at the tavern? Something happened there that upset me, but no matter how much I had tried to hide my discomfort, you recognized it immediately.” As wild as some considered Sera to be—so much so that Niamh was half-convinced it was a ruse—the other woman was almost frighteningly observant at times. She tried to inflect some humor into her voice as she recalled the memory from yesterday although she knew it would have been far longer for her friend. “You wanted to cheer me up, so you asked if I wanted to go on a midnight raid with you—preparations for a celebration after we returned from here.” 

Tried as she might, however, Sera still hadn’t said so much as a word. She simply stared at her with almost the same amount of apathy she had seen from the other prisoners. With each second that passed, it felt like Niamh was losing a part of her friend to the madness Alexius had willingly unleashed upon the world, and she berated herself for not having been better prepared for it. If she was even half the tactician she thought herself to be, then, surely, she could have done something to save Sera from the fate that had broken her so terribly.

“I'm sorry for taking so long to get back to you. I considered you a good friend, but I should have been a better one,” she admitted, looking away. “Even when I knew your reservations regarding magic, you still volunteered to come along just for me.” Niamh grimaced. “I should have tried harder to convince you otherwise. You wouldn’t be in here suffering if it weren’t for—"

And Niamh nearly landed flat on her back when Sera suddenly lunged forward to enwrap her in the tightest embrace she had ever given her. 

“It _is_ you,” Sera whispered.

Niamh’s own arms came down around her with almost shaky disbelief. “You… you can tell now?”

Sera nodded before letting out a wet laugh against the thick leather of her coat. “Yeah, ‘cause you’re still the same idiot who’d blame herself for something stupid like this when it wasn’t even your friggin’ fault. You’re smarter than any of the smarty pants I’ve ever known, but you can be as dumb as a sack of druffalo shite sometimes, Neevy...”

The comment drew a startled laugh from her, but she smiled upon hearing one of the other nicknames Sera had bestowed upon her. “I know.” She hugged Sera carefully, mindful of the injuries she likely had beneath the dirty tunic and breeches she wore—typical of all the prisoners in the dungeons—which hung loosely on her disturbingly-thin frame. “I’ll try to read up on how to be better about that.”

“You’d better.” She paused with the quietest sniffle. “Neevy?”

“Hm?”

“The day you died? I ran out of arrows making them pay, and then it didn’t matter anymore…”

Niamh swallowed hard, finding it difficult to speak around the ball that had suddenly welled in her throat, knowing that her friend had likely suffered dearly in these dungeons for trying to avenge her. “I’m so sorry...” 

But Sera merely shook her head before finally drawing back, wiping at her eyes and nose with the backs of her hands. “You’re here now; you’ll make it right.” Sera stated it so matter-of-factly, but so much had gone wrong in such a relatively short amount of time that Niamh wondered if it could be that simple. Still, Sera’s gaze narrowed with determination as she pulled both of them to their feet. “And I’ll friggin’ die to spit in their faces for what they did to all of us...”

* * *

“What is this supposed to be? A pretend rescue to gain my trust?” Vivienne asked with a regal tilt of her head even as the words spilled from her mouth like venom. “Do you think I’d fall for that?”

As Niamh began unlocking her cell, she noted that Vivienne was in just as dire a state as Sera with how much red lyrium she’d been exposed to. “This is no trick, Lady Vivienne. It’s me,” she replied, soft and sincere. “I’m here to help.”

At once, she felt the temperature of the room drop as Vivienne outright glared at her, but the magic Niamh sensed within the air was… tainted. There was still that cool edge she had come to associate with the other mage. Her aura could cut as sharply as any blade, but there was now a sickly tinge to it, spoiling the touch of winter’s kiss with something that bled sluggishly like a festering wound. 

“You were obliterated; I was there,” she said derisively. “You can drop this pathetic ruse.”

“Lady Viv—” And Niamh suddenly found herself shoved unceremoniously out of the way—nearly crashing into Dorian—courtesy of Sera.

“This is getting us nowhere!” The elf then settled herself within the cell’s doorway—hands on her hips—with a pointed glare at Vivienne. “Let’s _go_ , Pucker Face!” 

“Sera!” Niamh objected.

“No!” Sera pointed a finger at her without even bothering to take her gaze off the other mage, who was watching their interaction with some faint semblance of vexation. “You were going to be all polite about it, and it would have taken too friggin’ long!”

“She has a point, you know.”

Niamh rolled her eyes. “You’re not exactly helping here either, Dorian...” she deadpanned, but the man only raised his hands in mock-appeasement.

“Well, pardon me for trying to provide some constructive criticism!”

“What part of that was even remotely constructive?!”

“Clearly, I’m to be saddled with the nonsense of witless demons for the remainder of my days. Marvelous,” Vivienne mused dryly, sounding fatigued at the very thought.

Sera snorted. “No. Neevy’s real, and so’s Mustache over there,” she said, thumbing over her shoulder at the two mages behind her still arguing. “That piece of shite magister sent them forward in time, and now they’re trying to fix it so this doesn’t happen. Weird as anything, yeah, but this ain’t a trick because in no version of this frigged up world would you ever imagine _me_ here trying to convince you of anything.” She narrowed her eyes balefully. “Now get out of the damn cell because Neevy’s not gonna leave otherwise, and the longer we’re down here, the less time _I_ have to shove my foot down someone’s gullet. So again: get off your bleedin’ arse, and let’s friggin’ go!” 

Silence settled between them both for several tense moments before it was broken by a sigh.

“The world has clearly come to an end if even you are starting to make a great deal of sense. Very well.” She strode forward, and Sera moved out of her way. Vivienne then eyed Niamh, who had stopped bickering with Dorian the moment she realized the former First Enchanter was out of her cell. “Was this meant to be a fate worse than death if Alexius sent you to this time?” she wondered aloud, crossing her arms over her chest.

The mere mention of the magister’s name was enough to send a prickle of lightning across Niamh’s shoulders. Whatever intentions Alexius had with this new terrifying world of his, it had come at too dear a price. Her companions shouldn’t have been used to balance the weight of such scales.

“It was a mistake he’ll come to regret,” she swore solemnly. It had also apparently been the very response Vivienne was looking for, as she nodded in approval.

“Such confidence. You hide too much of that storm within you at times; you’ll need every bit of it if you’re to survive here, my dear.” Something began to unknot within Niamh upon hearing the familiar endearment, but as Vivienne turned to her again with a quiet sadness in her eyes, the sensation stilled immediately. It was replaced then with a gnawing worry. “Since your death in the throne room, do you know what’s happened?”

“No. We were only told that Alexius serves the Elder One—a being said to be even more powerful than the Maker.” It should have been an alarming thought, but Niamh had long stopped concerning herself with a God who continually ignored the plight of His children.

“Then you’re aware of the cause but not of the factors that led to it.” Vivienne shook her head with a sigh. “The Venatori assassinated Empress Celene, and in the chaos that followed, they invaded Orlais.” A fire settled into her eyes, disturbing the already unsettling red glow of her lyrium-riddled gaze. “Their army was not just mages but demons—countless demons. With no one capable of challenging him, their Elder One ascended, and now there’s nothing left. Truly, you couldn’t have come at a worse possible time, my dear, but if you’re determined to end even a fraction of this madness, I’ll lend my aid to you until my last breath.”

“As always, I would be grateful for it.” Niamh began rifling through the inner pockets of her coat, searching for lyrium vials to lend, but Vivienne waved away her kindness. 

“No need, my dear. Those have little effect on me anymore; the red lyrium flows too thickly through my veins. You’d best keep them for yourself.”

Niamh’s brows furrowed, unaware the different types of lyrium could counteract each other in such a way. “Has it affected your magic?” she asked, worry evident in her voice.

“My attacks aren’t nearly as potent, and my mana doesn’t replenish itself as quickly anymore, but for our purposes, they’ll pass muster,” she reassured. “Now then, lead on unless you’ve another reason to be lurking about the dungeons so.”

“There is actually. Do you both know where Leliana is?” When Vivienne and Sera only looked to her in surprise, Niamh felt her stomach sink, realizing they likely hadn’t even known the woman was a prisoner within the castle as well. “Fiona mentioned she was here, but we’ve yet to find her.”

“Fiona?” Vivienne scoffed with no small amount of disdain, and Niamh realized the older mage likely blamed Fiona for their current predicament as much as Alexius. Her involvement with the Venatori had set forth the disturbing chain of events that led to the world’s undoing. “She’s still alive, is she?”

“Not for much longer,” Niamh admitted quietly. “As much as we could tell, the red lyrium is practically eating her alive. She’s nearly encased in it now.” At that, some of the anger in Vivienne’s gaze cooled somewhat, for the fate that awaited Fiona likely wouldn’t be a swift or dignified one. 

“I see… Not much to be done there then. Let’s press on, my dear.” Vivienne waved a hand dismissively at their surroundings. “Anywhere is better than this place.”

* * *

They eventually found themselves out of the main dungeons, but the hallways they trespassed upon weren’t any better. They weren’t jail cells which laid either empty or filled with the broken husks of the Venatori’s prisoners. No, these were entire rooms filled with endless tortures for the ones unfortunate enough to be caught within, and despite the thickness of their wooden doors, they did nothing to muffle the screams of the victims behind them. 

They’d learn that by mistake when they encountered a few Venatori torturing a Revered Mother Niamh had met in Redcliffe the other day.

Her heart panged with painful regret that they’d been unable to save her, but Niamh’s only consolation in that harsh truth was that Revered Mother Eglantine would have died near instantly from such grievous injury. The woman had fought to her last breath, however. From what she had heard of her conversation with her captors, she had offered nothing but her complete and utter disdain of them.

It hadn’t surprised her. Niamh’s first impression of the woman was that she had been one of considerable constitution. Despite having had many of her colleagues forcibly removed from the village by Alexius, she had stayed behind to tend faithfully to her flock despite the threat the Venatori posed. 

_“Mages are children of the Maker, no less than the rest of us. They struggle with questions of faith as much as we do.”_

And Niamh had known then that she’d been sincere in her words; it hadn’t merely been a charade.

No, Revered Mother Eglantine hadn’t shunned Niamh upon their meeting. She greeted her willingly as she had with any of the mages under her care, never once using Chantry rhetoric to bind and belittle her as other priests had. She was kind albeit somewhat skeptical of Niamh’s role in the world, which was understandable given they lived in times of such uncertainty. 

Yet, when she had heard Niamh’s intention was to save people and restore peace before the threat of the Breach could consume them all, she had taken Niamh at face value. She had believed in the ideals Niamh presented just as much as she believed that her people should be given the opportunity to seek their freedom. 

Revered Mother Eglantine was the rare sort of ally she’d never thought she meet within the Chantry, but then again, Mother Giselle had been a surprise to her as well with her calm wisdom which soothed more than irritated. Perhaps had she met such individuals earlier in her life, she wouldn’t have turned so easily away from the Maker. As it was, however, Eglantine’s death was a loss upon the world, but Niamh could only be grateful that the other woman was finally free from suffering.

“How did Cousland know of the sacrifice at the Temple?!” 

Niamh paused, holding her arm out to signal the others to keep behind her as she pressed her back against the wall, carefully looking around the corner. There was no one there, but her ears remained alert for any other sounds. A moment later she heard what seemed like flesh impacting upon a flesh—a punch perhaps?—followed by a sharp groan of pain. All were coming behind the door that stood at the end of the hallway. 

“Tell me!” the torturer growled, likely infuriated by the silence of his victim. 

“Never!”

Niamh’s breath caught in her throat as she heard the familiar voice full of angry defiance, and she looked behind her, knowing her companions had recognized it as well. Vivienne nodded firmly, knowing her intentions, and it was enough that Niamh began to press forward, carefully leading the way as they crept down the hall even as her mind urged her to move faster. 

Leliana was still here.

She was alive.

And she was hurting.

 _Because of me…_ Niamh thought miserably.

“There’s no use to this defiance, Little Bird,” the guard within sneered just as the sound of a slap rang out, drawing yet another cry. Niamh bit her lip to the point of bleeding to remain silent. “There’s no one left for you to protect.” 

“You’re wasting your breath,” Leliana growled out before grunting in pain from likely another blow.

“Talk! The Elder One demands answers!”

Niamh heard Leliana laugh, but it wasn’t the same sound that could simultaneously thrill and warm her on even the coldest mornings in Haven. No, it was unbelievably bitter, made all the more brittle and sharp with her pain.

“He’ll have to get used to disappointment.” 

Another crack of a hand met her words, and Niamh couldn’t let Leliana suffer on her behalf any longer.

With a few strides, she pressed her hand against the wood of the door, forcing her magic through every grain and open crevice. She flooded it with the fire of her rage until it had no other choice but to bend beneath her power, exploding amidst a shower of sparks and ash. 

When Niamh stepped through the cloud of smoke, time almost seemed to slow to a crawl. Two people turned to her in the aftermath of the door’s sudden destruction, but the lone Venatori was of little concern to her. 

From there, it took only a fraction of a heartbeat for her gaze to find Leliana’s, but the image that met her was far worse than anything she could have imagined. 

Her hair was longer now, free of her usual cowl, but the color of it had faded prematurely to a brassy orange tinged with grey instead of the deep red she recognized. The unkempt strands framed the once vibrant blue of her eyes, which now held a milky tinge to them, made all the more apparent as they sat within nearly hollow, darkened sockets. She was also as gaunt as any other prisoner they’d come across, but there was a sickly, cadaverous nature to Leliana’s thinness, and Niamh saw the multitude of bandages along whatever expanse of skin hadn’t been covered by the prison garb. They were old—soaked through with blood to the point that it left them almost black in some areas. 

This wasn’t the effect of red lyrium poisoning that the rest of the prisoners below in the dungeons had been exposed to. As her eyes roved across the dark blotches resting over the stretched skin of Leliana’s face, Niamh’s mind immediately flashed back to the Deep Roads, where she and her companions met Hespith—a dwarf within Paragon Branka’s unfortunate expedition party who had an appearance not unlike Leliana’s now—as she revealed to them the true creation of a Darkspawn Broodmother.

 _They infected her with the taint…_ her mind whispered in horror.

And then the heartbeat passed, and time resumed itself. 

Leliana used the distraction of her entrance to wrap her legs around the Venatori’s neck. He put up a considerable struggle, frantically trying to pry her away from him, but despite her haggard appearance, there was still more than enough fight left within the other woman, and she held him easily in place. The man soon began choking as Leliana tightened her thighs around him, and with a swift jerk of her hips, his neck audibly snapped before he fell dead at her feet. 

In the silence that followed, Niamh quickly began searching through the dead man’s pockets, finding the key that would likely undo Leliana’s manacles. She was able to unlatch one of them in relatively short order, but considering the other woman was suspended well off the ground by chains, Niamh carefully wrapped an arm around Leliana’s waist so that she wouldn’t be left dangling by one wrist. She felt Leliana tense up against her immediately, and she couldn’t fault her reaction. Given what she endured in these rooms, she likely didn’t care for the touch of others. Niamh could only murmur an apology against her, but Leliana merely grunted softly before moving to wrap her free arm around her shoulders, providing a bit more leverage. Niamh shifted the key to one hand, and after a bit of maneuvering, she was finally able to undo the last shackle.

She tossed the key from her as soon as Leliana was freed, shifting to hold the other woman more comfortably within both arms, but Niamh was disturbed to discover just how light she felt in her embrace as she carefully lowered her to the ground.

“You’re alive…” The words were said so softly that if Niamh hadn’t been standing so close to her, she likely would have never heard them. 

“Yes,” she confirmed grimly, but as she stared down at the evidence of all that Leliana had endured in her time here, despair filled her. “I’m sorry it took me so long to get back…” At such a close distance, Niamh felt the full weight of her glare, and she shrank away from it.

“If you can end this, then that’s all that matters,” Leliana rasped caustically, features shifting into an impassive mask Niamh hadn’t seen since they had first reunited in Haven. “Do you have weapons?” When Niamh only nodded meekly, Leliana returned it with a satisfied curtness. “Good. The magister’s probably in his chambers.”

“You… you aren’t curious how we got here?” Dorian asked, incredulous, as Leliana simply strode past them.

“No.” She picked up a knife off the table of instruments and idly flicked off the dried blood dusting its edge before pocketing it. “While you were still largely an unknown mystery to me back then, I’ve known Niamh long enough to realize she wouldn’t have willingly abandoned us in our hour of need. If you’re here and can help undo the damage done, then I don’t care to know the details.”

“Alexius sent us into the future,” he still tried to explain to Leliana, who had remained utterly indifferent. “This—his victory, his Elder One—it was never meant to be. We just need to reverse his spell. If we can get back to our present time, we can prevent this future from ever happening.”

Leliana sneered at him. “And mages always wonder why people fear them…”

Niamh couldn’t stop the soft gasp from escaping her, feeling the utter sting of the comment. At the sound, Leliana turned to her, and for a brief moment, something flickered in her eyes. However, the moment where she might have said something soon passed, and so the other woman simply clenched her jaw, shifting her glance away. The gesture left Niamh bereft, and the painful void which had been growing in her chest from all the horror she’d witnessed thus far only seemed to deepen.

“I agree that no one should have access to this type of power. It’s dangerous and unpredictable, but before the Breach, nothing we did ever—” Dorian was cut off mid-sentence when Niamh suddenly reached out to clasp his shoulder with such force that he winced.

“That’s enough.”

“But—”

“Look at them, Dorian!” she demanded with such sharpness that lightning crackled in the air between them. Infuriated, she gestured toward their companions. “This is still the world they had to live through, and yes, it was magic that got them here! While it’s true we can go back and change this from ever happening, it doesn’t mitigate the fact they suffered dearly for all the time we were away, and I am _not_ going to invalidate their pain by implying otherwise!” She glared, emphasized by the snap of electricity dancing before her vision. “Are you?”

Dorian closed his mouth with a muted clicking of teeth and slowly shook his head, contrite.

“Good.” Niamh turned to the other women in the room, who were watching everything unfold quietly. Vivienne and Sera had never seen her lose her temper in such a way before, and it was evident in their stares—filled with varying degrees of surprise. She shifted uncomfortably beneath their eyes before clearing her throat, willing away the burning there—a familiar fire readying to spill out. “Is there anyone else down here we should help before we confront Alexius?”

“Niamh.” She turned her head at Leliana’s beckoning. “You should know... After you disappeared into the rift Alexius conjured, we had to inform your brother of the fact. The Teyrn was utterly distraught, but when we received word the Venatori were marching toward Haven, he brought his forces from Highever in full without hesitation. What we didn’t anticipate, however, was that there was something far more powerful than even Alexius…” The other woman sighed.

“In trying to avenge you, Teyrn Cousland fought until his last breath, slaying a legion of demons before being overwhelmed. He saved countless lives in an attempt to draw us time to further regroup, but against the likes of Alexius’ master, there was nothing to be done. Over weeks and eventual months, our inner circle fell, and as kingdoms followed suit, no one could stop the Venatori or their Elder One any longer.” Leliana shook her head, looking at her with quiet sympathy.

“There’s no one else down here, Niamh,” she said, motioning toward herself and then Vivienne and Sera. “As much as I wish we could offer you otherwise, we’re all that’s left of the Inquisition.”

Niamh’s heart immediately broke upon learning of her brother’s fate. Their reunion had only been a few short months ago, and she couldn’t have been more thankful for it. She had a piece of her family back—small though it was now—and the loneliness that had been her constant companion of the past decade found itself replaced. 

In this world, however, she had inadvertently left Fergus to flounder amidst a world that had cruelly taken everything from him, alone in the knowledge that he was once again the last of their bloodline. _And now the mantle falls to me if we can’t find a way to fix this…_

“I see,” Niamh said, a familiar melacholy seeping into her. “Thank you for telling me...”

“Of course,” Leliana replied quietly. “Come. I’ll lead us to Alexius’ chambers.”

Vivienne and Sera followed after her, but Niamh kept her gaze on the other woman, observing the obvious limp in her gait—likely an older injury that the Venatori never allowed to heal. To them, it would have been a weakness they could exploit, keeping Leliana more pliant to their whims.

At least in theory.

In truth, Niamh knew that—no matter the battlefield—Leliana was a force to be reckoned with. Her continued defiance even in the face of a world utterly shattered by inhuman means was proof enough of that. Despite it all, however, Leliana was still human—mortal—and now apparently Blight-sickened. Even if she and Dorian succeeded in returning to their own time, it would likely mean the Leliana here would still die.

And the very thought settled like a weight in her lungs, robbing her of breath. Quickly—worriedly—she followed after Leliana, determined to keep the dangers of this world away from her even if meant only delaying the inevitable. So single-minded was her focus that she didn’t even notice Dorian’s searching gaze at her back.

* * *

The Venatori they encountered there afterward suffered terribly beneath Niamh’s fury. To face it was to welcome death incarnate, for the destruction she delivered upon Dorian’s former countrymen was nothing less than absolute. 

When they approached the open courtyard, they were immediately beset by Venatori and demons from the nearby rift. From atop near-dilapidated scaffolding, marksmen were aiming toward them, but their arrows harmlessly met the towering ice wall Niamh summoned.

It had been a clear tactical choice on her part, for other than the knives Leliana and Sera had picked up within the dungeons, the two women were otherwise unarmed. Even with them, however, Leliana couldn’t move as quickly with her limp, and they clearly weren’t Sera’s weapon of choice. 

Their group was stationed near one of the courtyard entrances, so the wall provided cover while also serving as a bottleneck of sorts if their enemy tried to press an offensive attack. They wouldn’t run the risk of being overwhelmed, and that likely had been Niamh’s intent, for she was already on the move.

Dorian turned the corner of the ice wall in an attempt to catch up with her—Vivienne hot on his trail—and he had just enough time to see the air around Niamh shifting instantly. She enrobed herself within the magic lingering in the atmosphere and simply Fade-stepped forward into the throng of enemies. 

They had been unprepared for such a tactic, as had Niamh’s own party, who knew she preferred to keep a distance from their foes on the battlefield. It soon became clear, however, that such a preference hadn’t been one borne from discomfort. 

It was a mercy. 

Dorian saw only Niamh’s back as she swept her hand out before her sharply. Instantly, a ring of fire mines laid around her, and her enemies had only a moment to see them glow an ominous red beneath their feet before they were blown away by the force of the explosions. With the high stalks of grass within the courtyard as dry as they were, they caught fire immediately. Then, as the wind around Niamh buffeted violently, it was akin to being caught in a spiraling inferno, and he felt the intense heat of it even from a distance.

Desperate, the archers fired again at the mage, but whether in close quarters with her or from long range, they suffered the full weight of Niamh’s ire. The arrows burnt to crisps upon contact with the towering blaze before it swirled out, swallowing anyone unfortunate enough to be caught in its path and incinerating them immediately. Dorian felt the electric charge in the air before he even saw the woman raise her hand, lightning flowing from her fingertips toward the marksmen in the distance. The arcs were incredibly thin in width—almost coming to fine point with the precision Niamh displayed—but the effect was no less devastating as the archers convulsed heavily upon being struck by the attack before they collapsed where they stood.

A warrior charged through the wall of flames and foolishly tried to rush her with his sword, but he soon found himself tripped as one of his feet became encased in ice. Balance lost, the Venatori tipped forward, but he found his descent suddenly halted by the blunt staff point at his throat. He choked on the pressure of it there, and Dorian watched as his hands scrabbled at the length of Niamh's staff, trying to push it away even as he struggled to regain his footing. 

From their position, Dorian could just see Niamh’s profile as she canted her head, looking at the warrior with seeming consideration. Then, with a deft flick of her wrist, she shifted her staff point so that it rested under the man’s chin, holding him in place there. She met the warrior’s gaze impassively then, and with a blink, a bolt of lightning struck down from the darkened skies, the width of it encompassing his entire body with a deafening crash. Dorian threw up an arm to shield himself from the blinding flash, and when it subsided, he watched as Niamh merely twirled her staff in her grip, moving it out from the beneath the corpse of the Venatori warrior, which then fell into a smoking heap at her feet. 

_“I specialized as an elementalist,”_ she had once told him, exhausted resignation evident in her features as she explained her magical expertise. _“With the Blight's end, I had no intention of using my powers in any further wars ever again, but it seems I've no choice now.”_

But this?

This wasn’t the careful use of power from an apostate who’d forced herself into hiding for the past decade. This was a mage in her element—pure and unrestrained—and the knowledge of what she was truly capable of left him speechless. Niamh was a kind soul—he knew it despite only being recently acquainted with her—but as he watched her stalk toward their remaining enemies with all a predator’s grace, he understood that while she could accept abuse of herself from others, she would never allow it to be extended to her companions.

For the Venatori’s sheer abuse of them in this world—although Dorian strongly suspected it was about _one_ companion in particular—they had earned the terrible gift of Niamh’s absolute displeasure, and as such, she demanded nothing less than a complete annihilation of their forces.

* * *

“Can’t we bring them with us?” Niamh asked, turning to Dorian with desperation once it became clear they were quickly running out of time in this world now that Alexius laid dead. Her heart sank when the other mage merely shook his head. 

“The magic in this world is already wildly unstable. Trying to influence the amulet to allow more individuals through would be nothing short of disastrous.”

“But they’ll die here, Dorian!”

“Niamh.” The voice that called to her was soft, but even with its weak rasp, it never ceased to draw her attention. Leliana gestured to herself then and their remaining companions. While her gaunt expression was stern, her words were not unkind. [“Look at us. Blight-sickened and riddled with red lyrium… We’re already dead. You’d just be prolonging an end we were already prepared for.”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AnKrZD4HVPg)

As the castle walls shook again with the magnitude of the Elder One’s power, Niamh watched as Sera exchanged a glance with Vivienne, who nodded in whatever agreement passed within their gazes. The older mage turned to her then.

“We will do whatever it takes to keep them at bay.” 

Every cell within Niamh’s body screamed in protest of such a pronouncement, but as she studied Vivienne’s resolute expression, she understood this was the only suitable end the other woman desired. Dying in a cell beneath the bowels of the earth or suffering Fiona’s fate as a mere vessel of red lyrium were loathsome options. To deter her from this would have been little more than an insult to them both. Nevertheless, it was with great effort that Niamh was able to keep the misery she felt within her from touching her expression as she bowed low and respectfully in deference.

“It has been an honor fighting alongside you, Lady Vivienne.”

The other woman’s eyes softened a touch as she tipped her head in acknowledgment. “The pleasure was all mine.” She paused then, tilting her head. “My dear?” She waited until Niamh looked up again. “Whatever path that awaits you, know that you are more than capable of surmounting it. You needn’t hide behind another’s approval, let alone mine. It is imperative you continue to move forward on your own convictions, but in finding them, I ask that you do not let us—or the memory of all that occurred here—become a crutch to you. Do you understand?” At her tentative nod, Vivienne slowly turned on her heel and strode toward the exit.

“Neevy?” Niamh turned to Sera then, who was walking backwards in the direction of Vivienne. The woman was grinning as she nocked an arrow on the bow Niamh had retrieved from one of the marksmen she’d killed earlier, but there was a sadness in her gaze that she felt just as strongly. Even in the midst of such chaos—even as she marched off to face what was likely her own death—Sera was still trying to offer her some semblance of comfort. “Remember your promise when you get back to the village, yeah? I’ll be waiting! Don’t forget!” 

With creaking finality, the imposing doors closed behind the two women, leaving the remainder of their party alone in the decrepit audience chambers. 

“Cast your spell,” Leliana said to Dorian as she adjusted the quiver along her back. “You have as much time as I have arrows.”

“Leliana?” Niamh swallowed as those eyes slowly turned toward her. “I… I swear, I wouldn’t have abandoned you to this.” In the dim lighting, she was almost convinced that the corner of the woman’s mouth curled up briefly into a faint, sad smile.

“I know,” she said quietly. “You’ve still a kind heart despite all the years that passed; I’m glad you never lost sight of it.” A sound between a laugh and a sigh escaped her. “Despite it all, there is almost a strange irony to this, no? After so long, I finally have the chance to save someone dear to me. I couldn’t change Saoirse’s fate, but I can have a hand in saving yours.” 

A knot of misery wound itself within her chest, and it must have been evident from her expression, for Leliana was soon shaking her head in response to it. 

“Go back to your own world, Niamh. I am but a relic long forgotten by the Maker. If you’ve any pity for this broken soul, make it so this—” She gestured to the empty chamber around them. “—will never be an outcome.”

With a heavy heart, Niamh nodded in acquiescence. “I promise...”

“Then I will hold you to that.”

Niamh shifted back toward Dorian as he began infusing his magic into the amulet, but she never once took her gaze off Leliana, who stood guard near the base of the steps, intent on protecting them for as long as possible. The woman’s own gaze remained on the stone doors ahead of them, where Niamh could hear the battle continuing to rage on outside. After a time, however, the sounds of the fighting seemed to shift closer. Perhaps upon sensing that, Leliana began reciting a chant as she took careful aim at the entrance.

And then the doors burst open.

Niamh’s lips parted in horror when a Terror demon emerged first through the opening with Vivienne’s lifeless body impaled on its claws. Behind it, Venatori and other demons surged forward, and although Leliana was carefully whittling them down with her arrows, Niamh knew that she’d eventually be overcome by their sheer numbers. 

_“Please, for me, take care of them.”_

Her sister’s last words to her rang loudly in her head, and with them, she moved forward almost out of her own volition, but a hand frantically wrapped itself around her bicep, pulling her back.

“You move, and we all die!” Dorian shouted as the rift began conjuring itself with a growing roar, nearly drowning out his words. 

“But I—" _I don’t want her to die! I can’t abandon her again!_ was the remainder of the thought she couldn't bear to choke out. The grief she felt must have shown in her eyes, however, as Dorian’s own turned sympathetic.

“I know," he said consolingly, "but we can stop this all from happening! We can still save them, but I need you to stay with me, or all we've done here will be for naught!”

A shout of pain drew her attention away from him, and she saw Leliana’s body jerk back from the arrow in her shoulder. Niamh’s stomach dropped at the sight, but she wet her lips anxiously. “What…what do you need? What can I do to help?”

Dorian cursed as he shifted the amulet in the air with his magic. “Alexius must have used a great deal of energy when he activated this the first time! We need more magic powered through it!” 

As exhausting as their journey had been, it was a substantial request to make. Still, despite her nearly depleted mana, Niamh offered her hand readily, magic surging weakly at her fingertips. 

“Here! Take whatever you need! Just hurry!”

A loud clattering filled the air, and she looked up just in time to see a Venatori pull Leliana’s arm behind her back—her bow lost—as his brethren surged forward with swords and daggers in hand. However, it was the Terror demon moving toward the woman with wicked intent which drew the most fear from Niamh. Despite it all, however, as she met Leliana’s gaze over the throng of enemies, she saw a calm serenity settling across her face, seemingly at peace for the first time since she and Dorian entered this twisted future.

“I believe in you,” Leliana mouthed, smiling.

At the corners of her vision, Niamh saw the green of the rift surrounding her and Dorian. There was a roar of thunder within her ears—whether of her own doing or the power of the portal itself, she didn’t know—and she felt the sensation of something pulling at her fiercely from behind. 

She should have felt relieved that they had succeeded in their mission. 

Instead, she could only watch helplessly as the demon’s claws pierced the flesh of the woman she loved, and Niamh felt like her soul was dying along with Leliana. She felt the sting in her eyes as her mouth fell open with a scream of anguish, but like everything in this world, it was soon taken from her as the sudden rush of the rift enveloped her and Dorian completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So for those of you who responded to my question about chapter length, it looks like there seems to be a preference for longer ones. While I can't promise they will always be _this_ long, I just want to point out that updates will likely take a bit more time because of that. As it stands, I average anywhere between 1-2 weeks of chapters being put up. I want to maintain as much of a balance between quality and quantity as possible, so I hope you all understand! I appreciate your patience!
> 
> Still, if you want to be kept up to date about this story, I do occasionally post [deleted scenes](https://morganaseren.tumblr.com/tagged/otsttca-deleted-scenes) along with [vague story ideas](https://morganaseren.tumblr.com/tagged/lee%27s-thoughts-about-fics) I have about this particular pairing if you'd like to check them out. I can probably also give you little snippets of what you can expect from the next chapter if there's any interest in that sort of thing. Let me know!
> 
> Thanks as always for all the comments, kudos, and bookmarks you've given my story so far! I'm loving the feedback!


	13. So Come Over and Talk Me Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Niamh and Dorian return from Future Redcliffe, but more than a few people in her inner circle notice the change within her following that...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was like 36 pages... I didn't even try and make it this long this time around. It just happens!
> 
> Although to be honest, I think the recent DA4 trailer also helped a lot this time around. Lol. Have you guys seen it yet? What did you think of it?
> 
> EDIT: 9/1/20 - Reorganized the first section of the chapter to depict it from Vivienne's POV.

The audience chamber devolved into complete chaos the moment Niamh and Dorian had disappeared. 

The remaining Venatori were now fighting against Inquisition agents, but they were subdued in short order thanks in large part—reluctant as Vivienne was to admit it—to Fiona and her malcontents joining in on the fight. Although they were still considered indentured servants to the Imperium, the knowledge that their masters may have just destroyed the only person in all Thedas who believed in them seemed to be something they couldn't abide. They were furious in their onslaught—rightfully so—and Vivienne turned her own anger against the woman responsible for the ridiculous debacle to begin with.

“If you’ve had any part in endangering Lady Cousland—” Vivienne began only to be interrupted as Alexius sent a line of fire down their path. She immediately snapped an ice wall into place, shielding herself as well as Fiona and Sera, who were closest to her position. Her eyes narrowed as she waved a hand, reinforcing the barricade even as the magister continued sending barrages of flames their way. As expected, however, her wall held easily against the assault.

“Of course not!” Fiona protested heatedly against her initial claim. The woman paused briefly to cast a bolt of lightning toward a line of charging warriors, who had been looking to take advantage of their preoccupation to little avail. “The Herald was willing to help us despite everything! I would not have put her in danger had I known of Alexius' machinations!”

Vivienne's ice wall lit up briefly from the burst of heat that hit its opposite side, but from the magic she could sense in the air, she easily determined it hadn't been nearly as powerful as the other projectiles sent their way thus far. Whatever spell Alexius had cast against Niamh had taken much of his mana—so much so that even the frequency of his attacks were beginning to wane. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as Sera used the lull in spell-casting to sneak out from behind her wall, bow already drawn.

It was the sharp cry from their enemy that led Vivienne to withdraw from her barricade just in time to see Alexius collapse from the arrow he had taken to the knee. Sera was already marching up the steps of the dais, nocking another arrow as she went.

“Next arrow goes in your other one; I don’t even give a shite if we gotta drag you across all the rocks from here to Haven! Now bring her back, Arse Face!” Sera snarled, pulling her bowstring taut. “I won’t ask again!”

Before Alexius could even respond, a deafening boom resounded across the entire room as the space over their heads suddenly tore itself apart. It was a rift certainly, but it was fluctuating as madly as the last one Alexius had conjured. Every rip as it widened was a clap of thunder, and by the time it reached its full size, the final blast of it sent everyone flying off their feet.

Even with a barrier she had thrown up on sheer reflex alone, Vivienne's ears were still ringing as she hastily pushed herself up to an elbow, anxious to see what horrors the magister could have possibly summoned. As the rift disappeared, however, she caught the silhouettes of only two figures dropping from beneath it. One fell to an exhausted slump upon the floor, but the other rushed up toward the dais with a speed that was absolutely inhuman. _A Fade Step,_ Vivienne realized. Following on the figure's heels was the scent of rapidly-heated air, which encompassed the entire room, and the sudden shift of atmospheric pressure was so intense that it was nearly suffocating. 

The sound of splitting wood filled the air then, and as Vivienne struggled to her feet, she could now see that Alexius had been thrown back against the throne with such force that it had broken against his spine. He laid amidst the debris, gasping desperately for breath as he feebly tried to claw at the fingers around his throat, for looming over him like a harbinger of death was Niamh.

And there was nothing less than absolute fury in her eyes—lightning arcing almost casually across their pale depths—as she peered down at him. 

A storm was brewing in more ways than one, and as Vivienne heard thunder again, she turned her head up toward the high ceilings, watching in mild disbelief as clouds began to coalesce along the banners and columns, darkening with each passing second. Distractedly, she heard the awed gasps from others in the chamber as another ominous rumble filtered through the air, but her attention was solely on Niamh.

For as long as they'd been in one another's company, Vivienne had always known Niamh to be a woman of impeccable poise—something Vivienne herself approved of given the Herald's position—but here? She had never seen her so angry...

“Do you realize what you’ve done? What you subjected our world to?!" Vivienne watched as the young woman then grabbed handfuls of the magister’s robes and shook him with enough force that she could’ve sworn she heard his teeth rattle. “What you _took_ from me?!” she shouted, the sound of it reverberating throughout the room just as another peal of thunder shook the ground.

Fearful incomprehension filled Alexius’ gaze, even moreso as the chamber began to crackle with the steady thrum of building electricity. In quiet alarm, Vivienne watched as the staff along Niamh’s back began to rattle as if with a life of its own. The metal of the shaft almost seemed to give beneath an unseen pressure, pressing itself flat as parchment before completely warping in place.

As if also realizing the danger of the situation, Dorian had rushed up the steps to the woman's side, but he recoiled instantly with a sharp cry the moment he touched her shoulder. Vivienne soon realized why as she moved closer herself and felt the sheer heat radiating off Niamh's body. It became far worse when Niamh bent the flames of the hearth behind the throne to her own will, urging them forward violently. As a consequence, the large shadow the woman cast along the back wall of the chamber seemed almost a sentient beast that loomed ominously over them all, waiting with bated breath for the kill. At Niamh's continued bidding, the flames swept forward until they wrapped around her forearms like chains of molten fire, circling down them until they were nearly in contact with Alexius’ body, smoldering against the fabric.

“Wait, please!” urged Felix as he rushed forward in an attempt to save his father, but Sera automatically raised her bow at him.

“One move, and this one goes right between your eyes!”

“No!” Alexius cried out. “Please! Don’t hurt my son! I’ll do anything you ask!”

Yet, the words did nothing to appease Niamh. If anything, they seemed to enrage her even more if the flames along her arms flaring out were any indication. Simultaneously, the onyx gems along the weaponized ends of the woman’s staff began to vibrate, and Vivienne pursed her lips worriedly in response. _She'll burn her magic out at this rate..._

“You’re expending too much energy, my dear," she murmured urgently once she took the remaining steps to reach the other woman's side. While the heat of her ire was still palpable, Vivienne gave no outward indication that it bothered her, using her own magic to counteract it to more bearable levels. She waited until she had Niamh's attention, but her brows knit together in bemusement when the younger woman nearly did a doubletake upon seeing her. "You’re drawing on far more than just your mana now to power your magic, and your staff won’t be able to maintain such equilibrium for long. It’s already at its limit.” With Niamh's gaze turned completely toward her, Vivienne knew then she was listening, and so she softened her voice with a gentle demand. “It’s enough. Rest assured, he will be made to pay for his crimes, but we needn’t have you hurt to do so.”

Slowly, as if in answer, the flames along Niamh's arms slowed to a barely-flickering simmer. Her grip on Alexius loosened then, and she let the magister fall back against the broken wood of the throne beneath him, robes charred from where her fingers had been. Vivienne backed away a step to allow the other woman to straighten to her full height, and she watched with quiet fascination as the storm within the room dispersed to nothingness and the fires surrounding her fled back into the hearth with a slow—albeit deliberate—roll of Niamh's shoulders. 

“Are you alright, my dear?” Vivienne asked, allowing her eyes to roamed over Niamh’s form carefully, but what she saw only added to her concern. 

Niamh had only been gone for several minutes, but her appearance was somehow so much worse for wear. Her hair was in disarray, and there were scattered traces of ash and blood staining her face and even embedded beneath her fingernails. All were unsettling signs, considering the other woman preferred to keep a distance from their enemies. Vivienne suspected that if Niamh's leather coat weren’t as dark as it was, they’d likely have seen a better visual of the challenges she’d faced while gone. 

And her eyes… 

Vivienne frowned.

Beneath the clear exhaustion within them, Niamh’s eyes seemed absolutely haunted as she looked upon both her and Sera.

“It…” Grey eyes slid askance as she turned to look at Dorian, who only shrugged wearily, clearly letting her lead the narrative in whatever way she saw fit. Niamh pursed her lips, wetting them briefly to soothe the dryness there. “It was… difficult finding our way back here,” she said at last, reluctant even in admitting that. “I can’t say too much. Not yet at least. It’s too fresh a wound, but I suspect you’ll both have the report soon enough once my War Council goes over the details.”

“I see…” Vivienne said. She didn't approve of such secrecy, especially when it was so clearly tied to Niamh's current mental and emotional well-being, but she couldn't fault the caution. She sighed then. “Very well. See that you don’t let such an injury linger too long unattended, my dear. Here; let me have a look at you.” 

She withdrew a handkerchief, which she draped over a palm. She waved her fingers over it, causing the piece of fabric to frost over, and as the hand beneath it glowed a faint red, the ice began to melt. With the now damp handkerchief, Vivienne then tilted Niamh’s chin up before she carefully swept the cloth over where the soot and dried blood were heaviest. Grey eyes blinked in mild surprise at the treatment, but Niamh otherwise said nothing as Vivienne continued to clean her.

“There we are.” Vivienne carded her fingers through the other woman's hair to help settle the dark strands into place before nodding, satisfied. “You’re looking a fair bit better now, but we must keep up appearances. Our forces were at a loss when you suddenly disappeared. They will look to you for guidance, and you must stand ready to lead them.”

Niamh blinked—as if suddenly remembering where they were—and Vivienne watched as she looked over her shoulder to see a number of agents milling about. Some were dragging bodies out of the castle, others were ensuring the perimeter was kept safe for their Herald, but a few of them were also injured and had to be half-carried off to the side by their companions.

Dark brows knit together. “Lady Vivienne, could I ask you to tend to some of our agents? It was rather chaotic, but I recall seeing a fair bit of fighting when I returned. I’d like to begin preparations to head back to Haven as soon as possible once we settle things here.”

Vivienne nodded in approval. “Of course, my dear.”

* * *

“You really alright, Neevy?” Sera asked Niamh, settling her bow over her back as Vivvy made her down the dais.

“For right now, yes.” It seemed she was going to say something else, but she was interrupted before long.

“Your Worship?”

Niamh turned her attention to a few nearby Inquisition agents, who were looking at her with varying degrees of awe and fear. The latter was likely to hurt her, Sera knew, and she was proven right when those grey eyes turned more guarded, hiding behind the stiffer public persona Sera never liked.

It wasn’t the Niamh she knew.

Not the one who would indulge her pranks with quiet humor and a warm smile.

Not the one who went well out of her way to help people even when she had nothing to gain from it. 

It was a mask, and Sera hated masks.

“See to it that the magister is kept under guard until we’re ready to return back to Haven. Should he give you any trouble,” Niamh flicked her eyes coolly toward Alexius, but the man miserably kept his gaze downturned, “come and find me. I’ll remedy that personally.”

“And him, Your Worship?” the agent asked, jerking her head toward Felix as her compatriots rounded Alexius up in chains.

“His son gave valuable insight in our being able to perform our mission as well as we did. He’s not a prisoner. Let them both talk to one another if they wish to." More quietly, she added, “I suspect they’ll need that solace in the days to come.” 

“Aye, my lady.”

Sera watched as the two Tevinter mages were led away before frowning deeply at her friend. “Alright, I've got a bone to pick with you. Look, I know you regularly pit yourself against demons and even huge as shite dragons like the one in the next valley over, but you really need to learn to stop scaring m—”

And her words left her in a rush as she was suddenly enveloped in a tight hug. Niamh was so close that Sera could clearly feel the faint trembling in her limbs, and she wrapped her own arms around her worriedly.

“Neevy?”

“Sorry, sorry…” she murmured over her shoulder. “I was… As I said, it was difficult getting back here to all of you.” Niamh pulled back then, settling her hands atop her shoulders as she offered a faint half-smile that seemed more pained than reassuring. “I just wanted to see for myself that you were okay.”

Well, now Sera was even more worried. Before she could even voice her concern, however, the entrance to the audience chamber was thrown open, allowing a small battalion of soldiers to march through. As they came closer, Sera realized she had seen the heraldry on their banners and armor before years ago, and it was made all the more evident as a man and woman in absolute finery strode through the middle of the room. 

_Well, shite._

* * *

“Maker, it _is_ you…” Alistair breathed.

Niamh saw the moment his eyes lit up in recognition as she went to meet him and Anora. She smiled at that, but as decorum was still called for—although she knew he would have been the first to protest—she bowed low in the presence of him and his queen.

“Your Majesties. It is an honor to have you both here with us.” Although Anora dipped her head in appreciation of her words and etiquette, Alistair was the first to lay his hands on her shoulders, urging her back up to full height.

“Please, we fought in the Blight together for Andraste’s sake. There’s no need for formalities,” he said before drawing her into his arms. Alistair wasn’t nearly as tall as her brother, but she remembered that his hugs had always been just as warm and full of affection, and she smiled upon feeling it again after so long apart from one another. “It’s good to see you, Niamh.”

“And you as well, my friend,” she replied, returning his hug with a few gentle pats to his back. “I take it you’re here regarding the situation with the mages?”

“Yes.” When he drew back, Niamh could see the frown marring his expression, and it deepened as he saw Fiona, who hovered just beyond the edge of their circle of conversation, fingers worriedly wringing themselves.

It was then Niamh knew Alistair had no intention of letting the mages stay in Redcliffe any longer. Despite their friendship, he couldn’t allow such a concession, especially given all the events that had unfolded since then.

“I offered them refuge here in large part because I was reminded of you,” he admitted, eyes filling with a quiet sadness. “When you left us, I always wondered if you were alright. If there was something I hadn’t seen, if there was something _more_ I could have done to help you through the pain before you slipped away from us all…”

“Alistair, no,” she hastened to reassure, remembering the kind, gentle heart of the man before her. “My leaving was never your fault. No one within our party was to blame. My pain was my own.” And it had been for years afterward upon realizing that her sister was forever lost to her and that their family’s bloodline had been reduced to a mage the world would never accept. “I didn’t wish to burden anyone with it. In truth, I doubt anyone would have prevented my leaving save for Saoirse herself,” she sighed, and she saw the sympathy in his eyes at her words.

Just like with Leliana, Alistair felt the passing of his friend just as strongly even after so many years.

“I realize you can’t let the rebel mages stay here, but I need you to understand that the judgment they made was done in error. They were fed lies due in large part to the Tevinter mages—these Venatori—who had convinced them no one would be able to help them. They believed they had no choice but to sign their lives away, but all that occurred in their wake? The displacement of Arl Teagan and the members of the chantry in the village? All were perpetrated by the magister and his Venatori.” She looked between both Alistair and Anora fully. “Your Majesties, if you would permit me, I can offer assistance in both matters.”

“Does this have anything to do with the Breach near Haven?” Anora asked, concerned.

“Yes. If you both would also be willing to return correspondence with me, I’d like to establish a joint effort between Ferelden and the Inquisition—one would that allow us to cumulate resources and information. I’ve reason to believe the Venatori are connected to the Breach or are at least aiding the one somehow responsible for its creation.”

“And you’ve no problem working against them, Your Worship?”

“Not at all, Your Majesty. They’re an absolute disgrace to all mages, and what they represent is a threat to our entire world,” she admitted easily, frowning. “If they were able to infiltrate this deeply into Ferelden, then it’s possible they’re capable of doing so elsewhere. If left unchecked, we risk opening up every nation to sabotage from within, and I needn’t tell you the consequences of such a thing occurring.”

Anora and Alistair shared a glance, and while both had been relatively uncertain of their marriage to one another a decade ago, it seemed they had developed an unspoken rapport with one another. She watched as her friend chuckled then, turning back to her, rubbing at his jaw thoughtfully. “I see you’re still every bit as clever as I remembered you to be. It was always endless plans with you, wasn’t it?”

“And have I ever steered you wrong with them?” She folded her arms over her chest, leaning back to place more of her weight on her right leg as she arched a brow at him pointedly. “Honestly, between you and Saoirse, I don’t know who I was trying to keep more out of trouble back in those days...”

Alistair tipped his head back, laughing fully at that, and Niamh was heartened to see he still had some of the same humor she remembered. The years had hardened him some, yes. The responsibility of ruling a nation was much its own burden, but he still offered her a smile, weary though it was. He looked to Anora then, who only nodded with her consent, before responding. 

“We’ll do what we can to help, Niamh.”

“Wonderful. Get in contact with our Inquisition ambassador when you're able, and she'll likely be more than happy to go over the finer details of our arrangement.” She paused, her expression sobering. “Again, the closing of the Breach isn’t guaranteed even with the additional help here.” Niamh turned her gaze to the lingering pockets of mages, who looked at the three of them with wide eyes, wondering what their fate would be. “For now, please just have your defenses in place at Denerim. Be prepared to offer refuge to anyone fleeing in the event this somehow does manage to go wrong.”

“The double-edged sword in trying to save the world,” he drawled. “You’d think we’d be done with this by now.”

“If only, my friend.”

“We’ll take all you’ve said into great consideration, Lady Cousland,” Anora assured. “We’ll be in touch soon. Safe travels to you and your Inquisition.”

* * *

Leliana had already been aware of some of the events that had transpired in Redcliffe by the time Niamh and her party had returned. The first message she received by raven had come from one of her agents. The quick, frantic script had only said that The Herald had disappeared along with the Tevinter mage following a spell cast by the magister. It had happened so quickly that no one had been able to stop him.

Leliana’s heart had immediately stopped, wondering if she had yet again been too late to save someone dear to her. 

At the news, Cassandra, Cullen, and Josephine turned again to arguing amongst themselves over the next steps that should be taken, but without Niamh’s Mark to seal the Breach, few options seemed viable. Upon that realization, the tension in the room sank to utter despondence until they received another messenger raven within an hour of the first:

_Herald returned with Tevinter mage. Magister taken into custody. Heading back to Haven with mages. Herald named them Inquisition allies._

The juxtaposition between the utter shock of the first message and the startling relief of the second was palpable. Leliana, however, suspected the latter emotion would shift to disbelief soon enough in regards to both Cassandra and Cullen. Given their ties to their respective Orders, they’d have the most issue with the mages being offered a full alliance. 

Her spies had been the first to arrive back at Haven—at the urging of the Herald, they said. Some of Leliana’s agents had been injured, but thanks to Dorian’s lessons, they had come through without a single fatality to be counted among their ranks whereas other than Alexius and his son, the Venatori who had occupied Redcliffe were now dead.

Not that it hadn’t been a near thing in the end, Argent—one of her elite assassins—had said, as Alexius was determined to fight to the death until the Herald had made her reappearance. 

It was like the end of days, another of her agents had reported. The air within the room had heated to uncomfortably stifling levels as the Herald had dropped first from the portal before rushing up the dais with lightning-quick steps to subdue the magister. It had been both an impressive and terrifying takedown, for the woman had actually raised her voice to her foe, and the fury behind it nearly rivaled the tempest that had been brewing inside the audience chamber.

The Herald had looked unharmed, they said. Not a scratch on her. But the magister had clearly done something to her, another reasoned, for she had been fine before being thrust into the portal, but whatever had transpired inside it had her seeing red faster than any territorial High Dragon. 

And Leliana saw evidence of that now as Cassandra and Cullen confronted Niamh the moment she stepped foot inside the chantry. From the coolness settling into those wintry-grey eyes, her patience—and she had demonstrated a considerable amount of it thus far as their Herald—was quickly beginning to fray under the interrogation. Those outside their War Council were wise to leave them be, skirting the edges of their group before fleeing out the doors.

“What were you thinking, turning mages loose with no oversight?!” Cullen demanded. “The Veil is torn open!”

“Commander, I’ve been a runaway apostate for the last decade, and I’d wager my left arm by saying I’ve seen the Breach more intimately than any other mage on Thedas to date. Yet, have _I_ been turned into an abomination?” she drawled, profoundly underwhelmed by his logic. 

“No, but…” He became flustered in trying to find his words. “Lady Cousland, you’re more powerful than they are.”

“Powerful enough that I’d be seen as the better option to possess than the rebel mages now within our ranks, yes? Aren’t I the ideal candidate for one? Isn’t that what you implied the last time we saw one another in the Circle?” she minced out between clenched teeth. “Tell me, Commander, should I consider every Templar and Seeker I meet to be simple butchers on sight simply for the heraldry they wear? Killers capable of little more than thinking with their swords than their minds?”

“No! Of course not!”

“Then why would you automatically assume the same of my people?” Niamh snapped as the flames along the wall sconces flickered briefly as if in an unseen wind. It hadn’t gone unnoticed by their party, but while Cassandra and Cullen seemed uncomfortable now that the interrogation had—rightfully—turned on them, she and Josie were more concerned about Niamh’s well-being. “When I led my party through Kinloch Hold years ago, I did everything I could to try and save everyone. Regardless of what you may have thought of me back then, that _also_ included the Templars,” she revealed before sighing deeply.

“And whether you believe it or not, these people were being woefully misled by the Venatori. There were over a dozen Circles, and barring the Enchanters, most of them had never interacted with one another. They didn’t know their ranks were being filled with frauds, who spilled lies inside their heads to get them to lower their defenses and accept aid from the only ones who had bothered to help. Yes, I’m well-aware it was the Tevinter Imperium, but I also know what desperation can lead a person to do.”

“I know we need the mages for the Breach,” Cullen tried again, “but they could do as much damage as the demons!”

 _“Enough!"_ Niamh glared at him, and Leliana felt the barest prickle at the back of her neck—a quick-shot of lightning irritation. When Josie reached up toward her own nape to rub at the skin there, she knew the others must have felt it too. “As Knight-Captain of Kirkwall’s Templar Order, you were witness to the rampant abuses that went on in the Circle you were sworn to protect, and you did nothing! Not against your Knight-Commander who had innocent mages turned Tranquil on a whim, and certainly not against anyone under your command who committed other heinous atrocities beneath your nose! When your superior demanded a Rite of Annulment, you didn’t even so much as object to the idea of every mage in the Circle being put to the sword whatsoever!” Her gaze narrowed further even as she saw how he paled beneath each accusation. “And you truly wonder why the rebellion was as chaotic as it was?” Keen eyes turned to Cassandra then, who stiffened beneath the attention.

“And you, Seeker… You had the reports. You had the proof, and you let it go on just as much as Kirkwall’s Order did. If you want to be upset, then by all means, go right ahead. That is well within your right, but realize that _none_ of you were present in that chamber,” she said, turning to face each member of her War Council. “I made the best decision I could with all the information I had available, and that meant making sure the mages knew they hadn’t been abandoned by the world at large even if I was the only who would stand by them. Don’t even imply that this was entirely their fault, not when the institution they were bound to did nothing but systematically oppress them at every turn since it’s conception...”

Silence passed within the hallowed halls of the chantry, and it was only the flickering of the flames around them that offered any true noise in the quiet din. However, it seemed to be enough to calm Niamh, who only sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose wearily.

“Nevertheless, closing the Breach is going to require a great deal of magic, and that means lyrium. I had some contacts overseas I can ask to get in touch with us, but I’ll be the first to admit they’re not the most…” Niamh canted her head thoughtfully, searching for an appropriate word. “…legitimate source available.”

“I take it we’re dealing with smugglers then?” Leliana couldn’t help but ask. When she received only a nod, she returned it with her own. “Send word to them. You may have full use of my messenger ravens to do so. We need every advantage we can get.”

“And if we can keep it under the table, I’ll do what I can to quiet rumors,” Josie said, making a note on her parchment board.

“Ah.” Niamh blinked when she turned to their ambassador. “Before I forget, expect to receive a missive from the King and Queen of Ferelden within the next few days. I took the liberty in asking for their cooperation in some of our endeavors.”

“Truly?” Josie stopped writing entirely as she looked at Niamh with wide eyes, but the other woman merely smiled. 

“Yes. Both King Alistair and Queen Anora were pleased by how we dealt with the Venatori threat. They were equally concerned similar situations could be occurring elsewhere in Thedas, however, and they’d like to offer aid in whatever way they can.”

“Oh!” Josie seemed utterly pleased. “This is wonderful then! Open cooperation with the Crown of Ferelden grants the Inquisition further legitimacy. Thank you for taking such initiative, my lady.”

Niamh nodded in acknowledgement. “Given we’re on borrowed time, it was necessary. The Breach won’t wait for us indefinitely, and the longer it remains in the sky, the more my life is in danger with this damned Mark.” She opened her hand, allowing them to see the rivers of green running across her palm, radiating with gentle fluxes of light before she closed it. She turned her gaze to Cullen, who had been quiet for quite some time. 

“As for you, I need to know that you can still act as the Commander this Inquisition needs. If there’s too much history between us for you to do that, do me the courtesy of letting me know now so we can at least find someone who can.”

“No, I—” He swallowed and nodded. “I can. I will.”

Her eyes flickered between him and Cassandra, expression as neutral as ever. “Both your complaints have been duly noted, so unless you have more to add, I’d rather you save it until I can at least get our latest allies settled. Now are we done here?” They both merely nodded. “Good. Leliana, if you’ve the time, could you ask a few of your scouts to help set up some tents for the mages? We can use the area near the old apothecary’s cabin if need be for space.”

“Of course.” 

Niamh then blinked several times in slow succession, as if trying to clear exhaustion from her vision. “And I apologize for my abruptness in the matter, but I’d like some rest if you wouldn’t mind.” She reached over her shoulder for her staff, and the clearly warped shaft of it caused Leliana’s eyes to widen. Niamh merely frowned as she looked at it. “Or to at least see if Harritt might be able to fix this,” she continued in a mutter. “I swear, this is the second time in as any months I’ve had to commission something from him…”

Leliana had only ever seen Niamh’s staff damaged so severely one other time before. 

It had been when the other woman had returned from the Fade following her encounter with the Desire Demon in Redcliffe. The elegant curves of her ironbark staff—a gift from an elven clan in the Brecilian forest—had been twisted like a gnarled tree root while the summer stone gems that had been embedded along it had nearly been cracked in two. Niamh had merely said the demon had proven a stubborn adversary, and that had been the end of any conversation regarding the matter.

Wynne had once told her that a mage’s staff served as a catalyst for their magic. It could help direct energy for better casting, but it could also serve as a last means of protection against themselves should they expend their abilities too much. 

_“Better to have a staff bear the brunt of such a backlash of power than the wielder of it,”_ she had said.

But to have had it happen again?

What could have caused Niamh so much trouble that it drove her to the point of putting herself in harm’s way?

“Of course, my lady,” Josie said, drawing Leliana out of her reverie. “I’m sure it was a rather difficult task to deal with.”

“That it was,” Niamh remarked quietly before slowly turning on her heel to march out of the chantry. “You’ll have my report in the morning.”

* * *

“Come in,” Niamh said distractedly when she heard the knock at her door, writing fervently across the pieces of parchment in front of her as she had been doing continuously for the past several hours. Some detailed all that had occurred while she had been in that… horrific version of Redcliffe, but others were bulletpoints of plans that could be implemented to prevent that future from coming to fruition. She was adamant that no possibility be left unchecked in regards to that goal, and she was hesitant to just leave them be, but when she looked up to see who had entered, her eyes had widened in surprise. “Lady Vivienne.”

“I apologize for the rather late hour, my dear.” 

“It’s no imposition. I was hardly asleep at any rate, and...” Her gaze drifted briefly to the reports she had promised to give her War Council come morning. “…Well, I suppose I could do with a break,” she admitted reluctantly, sheepishness settling over her. Ever the hostess, she gestured to the chair adjacent from hers, which Vivienne settled herself into elegantly. “I’m afraid I don’t have any wine to offer; I try not to imbibe this late at night. Could I interest you in any tea however?”

“That would be lovely.”

Thankfully, the latest pot—of several that evening—had just finished steeping, and she quietly poured a cup for the other mage. “There we go. What can I do for you this evening, Lady Vivienne?”

“I don’t think it needs to be said our… allies—” She said the word with great reluctance on her part as she took the cup of tea from her. “—need to be properly trained. Our Commander, however, lacks the number of Templars to really aid them in that fact.”

“Ah.” Niamh refilled her own cup, somehow wishing she had something stronger after all with the conversation the other woman was looking to have with her. “I suppose someone has confidence in their abilities.”

“It is not a matter of confidence, my dear.” She pursed her lips. “Reality does not change based on feelings. Magic is dangerous just as fire is dangerous. It would behoove us all to see Fiona and her malcontents properly taught. Abominations within their ranks are inevitable otherwise.”

Niamh didn’t believe the matter was so clear cut, but there was no denying there were several young mages among the allies she had gained. Most were likely to still be apprentices; they always made up the largest population of any Circle. What few full-fledged mages and Enchanters there were among their ranks would likely have trouble managing them all. She hummed thoughtfully, giving the matter more consideration as she sipped at her tea.

“In my adventures during the Blight—and even beyond that—I’ve seen mages who turned themselves into abominations because they felt they had no other choice in the matter. Just as any individual forced into a corner, they grew desperate, either due to the fact they didn’t have enough power to defend themselves or because no one had ever taught them how to properly do so,” she explained to an attentive Vivienne. “As chaotic as the world is now, I don’t want demonic possession to be their first thought of defense when faced with any conceivable threat. It should never be an option to begin with. You’re right; they should be taught how to better defend themselves. We set them up for failure otherwise.”

Vivienne’s eyes filled with approval. “I knew you would have a proper grasp of the situation, my dear.”

Another thought mulled about in her head then, and with it came an idea that proved too intriguing to leave unattended. “Might I impose a request upon you, Lady Vivienne?”

The other woman merely arched a brow, sipping at her tea. “What might you need, my dear?”

“Forgive my bluntness in pointing this out, but you’re a Knight-Enchanter, yes?”

“Indeed I am.”

Niamh tapped her fingers against the wooden surface of her desk, working out her thought and searching for how to best word it. “I don’t suppose you’ve any associates within that class who would be willing to come here and train the mages, would you? You are right in that the Commander is sorely lacking in needed numbers to offer proper guidance.” She gently gestured toward the other woman then, subtly appealing to her ego. “As reputable and formidable as I’ve known the Knight-Enchanters to be, even just a few amongst the Templars here would prove a boon, and I strongly suspect the mages would also be more receptive to another like them—regardless of class—guiding their training.” She shrugged then. “Even my word can only go so far with our allies, and my work keeps me well away from Haven more often than not—loathe as I am to admit it. I don’t want my absence to keep them from seeking their full potential, especially if they are to aid us."

Vivienne smiled, seemingly impressed. “A sound argument. I’ll give our ambassador the means to contact my other associates as part of a formal Inquisition request, but tell me something, my dear. As you will no doubt have a hand in shaping it, what future do you see for mages?”

Niamh blinked at the sudden inquiry. She idly stirred at the depths of her tea. “I don’t think it comes as a surprise that I was never a proponent of the Circles as they were. If they _are_ to ever be implemented again, I’d rather see them be used as institutions of learning—universities where mages can come and go as they please to learn about their magic—rather than a prison. A soldier doesn’t have a secondary organization watching their every move for a simple misstep after all.” 

“And you don’t believe these new institutions have the potential to be misused?”

“I’m not arguing for a complete dismissal of supervision, Lady Vivienne,” she said reasonably. “If anything, Kirkwall’s Templar Order proved what a negligent lack of oversight could cause. However, if both the Templars and mages are to ever coexist peacefully, it cannot be as the Chantry is now. Both the Order and Circle of Magi were bound to it in ways that cannot be readily unwound. One sees the latter as mere wards instead of companions, and it becomes more of a duty instead of a partnership. That isn’t a foundation that can be built upon as equals.”

“I see. And how would you see the Chantry changed?”

“No one knows the dangers of magic better than a mage, yes? Let them have a place within it. Let them have their voices heard rather than have one forced upon them that has no actual understanding of the true plights they face in regards to the world.” 

“Mages within the Chantry, you say,” Vivienne mused. “A curious idea. Such interesting twists and turns your mind takes. It’s something to consider certainly.”

Niamh hummed in agreement. “I’ve had enough time on my hands over the years to think about it certainly.”

“Indeed.” Having finished her cup of tea, she slowly rose to leave. “But I’ve taken enough of your time, my dear. I thank you for the conversation. Please know you’re always welcome within my company should you ever need a listening ear.”

“Likewise, Lady Vivienne,” she said, already turning back to the pieces of parchment in front of her, rearranging them as she had before she had been interrupted in her planning mid-thought. She frantically chased after her last idea, pulling it forward like a line that had been cast out to sea. It was imperative she finished writing these notes. Niamh couldn’t run the risk of forgetting anything that could help them in turning the tide against that awful future. “Enjoy the remainder of your evening,” she offered distractedly, dipping her quill into the inkwell to rewet the tip before tracing out her thoughts, unaware of the concern in the other woman’s eyes as she closed the door behind her.

* * *

Niamh was nothing if not thorough in her written reports, highlighting several points of interest, such as the assassination of Empress Celene—a shocking turn of events—and how to best prevent them. They had already taken a portion of the Venatori’s planned mage army thanks to Niamh’s timely intervention, but it didn’t mean their enemy didn’t still have the numbers needed to invade Orlais. It was, however, a piece of a growing puzzle they didn’t have before, and Josephine was hard at work with informing the Empress of the threat to her safety.

But the other events that had unfolded in that horrifying future of Redcliffe… They seemed almost impossible, but neither she or the remainder of their War Council could deny the change it had wrought in Niamh. She and Dorian had been whisked away into a world of nightmare on a magister’s desperate whim, and though they had successfully escaped after suffering hours of the torment within it, it was clear the woman hadn’t been left unscathed.

There was a sharpness to her that hadn’t been there before, and the woman who could match both wits and finesse with the likes of Lady Vivienne, Leliana, and even herself had somehow turned into someone who gave blunt observations that bordered more on ham-handed, shocking even Cullen, who wasn’t nearly as diplomatic as his colleagues. It was often Leliana’s more practical hand that led to anything being accomplished in the War Room, for Niamh had now taken to deferring to her in matters of planning than offering any insight of her own as she once had.

Following Redcliffe, beyond initially working with Lady Vivienne to set up training for the mages, it seemed Niamh also couldn’t stand to be in Haven for longer than necessary. She kept her meetings with her War Council as brief as possible before scattering to the winds again with her team, leaving for one mission after another. While Niamh largely left Lady Vivienne to help oversee the mages with the aid of her Knight-Enchanter associates, it was clear she held a great deal of respect for her, and so in a bid to help, Josephine sought her out.

* * *

“Madame Vivienne, if I could trouble you for a moment?”

“No trouble at all, my dear,” Vivienne offered graciously, closing a thick tome upon her desk before turning to the ambassador. “How may I help you?”

“Has Lady Cousland spoken to you at all regarding the aftermath of Redcliffe?” Her hands wrung themselves worriedly. “She doesn’t offer as much of her thoughts anymore, not to our War Council at least. Not beyond an initial debriefing when returning from a mission.”

“Hm. Given what she endured, I’m not surprised,” Vivienne admitted. “Truthfully, I wasn’t pleased that she offered the mages a full alliance without any repercussions as to what they did. I’m still not for that matter, but she’s never struck me as an impulsive woman, and the reasonings she gave me in regards to them afterward were as sound as any.” 

If anything, Niamh was incredibly methodical. Paired with such innate magical discipline, had she returned to the Circle following the Blight, Vivienne had no doubt she would have risen through its ranks to become one of Ferelden’s finest Enchanters. Moreover, she had the type of tenacity and cunning that would have made her an elite player within Orlais’ Great Game should she have chosen to partake in it.

Such coveted traits spoke well of her as an individual, but Vivienne supposed it had blinded her to the fact that the other mage likely cared little for such things. She wasn’t the type of woman who actively sought power—strange as that concept was to her. Then, when she had made the rare slip in revealing Enchanter Wynne’s death—not having realized Niamh hadn’t known of the fact—Vivienne also saw then how young she truly was. Her calm, neutral façade had fallen in the shock of her words, leaving her hopelessly adrift in the face of them. For as carefully-constructed as her mask could be, she could still nonetheless be hurt.

Niamh had also moved from the status of a reviled prisoner to a very reluctant Herald in an astonishing short amount of time. To have such responsibility thrust upon her was its own burden. That she had borne it well had no bearing on the fact that it had clearly taken its own toll on her, evident in how she buried herself in her work than face the trauma she faced in that dreaded version of Redcliffe, distancing herself from everyone. 

“Unfortunately, Lady Cousland hasn't said anything further to me regarding the incident. While I’ll make every effort to ensure her well-being, Ambassador, do take care in remembering that it will not be a solitary effort that will undo the pain she’s suffered.”

* * *

“You should speak with her.”

Leliana looked up from her reports, turning to face her friend as she walked into her tent. “ _Quoi?_ ” she asked, furrowing her brows in confusion.

“Lady Cousland knows you best, Leliana. Perhaps she’ll appreciate someone more familiar approaching her with this. She’s become…” Josie paused, frowning. “I wouldn’t necessarily say skittish, but…”

It was good enough of a description as any however. Niamh’s interactions with the War Council remained as courteous and professional as always, but entire chasms seemed to exist between them now, allowing no one into the private refuge of her thoughts. 

“She’s keeping everyone at arm’s length, even her inner circle. With the eventuality of what we have to face now, I don’t need to tell you how crucial it is that we have her at her best.”

While Leliana would have otherwise agreed, Josie’s words pulled sharply at old memories. She understood fighting for the greater good just as much as the sacrifices that came intertwined with such an ideal. _But were you not always more than just your duty, my love?_ she thought with painful longing, but she soon wrenched the feeling away, burying it once more.

“She’s more than just her Mark, Josie,” she said flatly in rebuke. “She’s not a simple tool the Inquisition can use as it pleases. Niamh is—and will always be—her own person.”

Josie’s eyes softened, an apology within them as she acknowledged that she had chosen her words poorly. “I merely meant that if she is suffering, she shouldn’t have to do so alone. There are those who care for her if she would but let us in.” She turned her gaze in the direction of Niamh’s cabin, where she had once again hidden herself in following her return from the Storm Coast. “Given that she’s been alone for so long, I wonder if she perhaps forgot that. Please—if nothing else—remind her that it isn’t true.”

* * *

When Sera had seen Knifey Shiv-dark make her way toward Niamh’s cabin for the evening, she had headed back to her own tent, stuffing needed supplies into a spare bag. She had made out quite well with her raid the last time she had attempted it. She lifted the satchel, giving it a good shake to settle the contents within it. _Good. Full. Gotta get this to work._

It had to because her attempts to cheer Niamh up had done little good. If anything, they were often met with distracted, monosyllabic answers. The mage had remained as attentive as ever with ensuring her party was covered on the battlefield, but beyond that, she spoke very little, often lost behind the depths of those silvery eyes—quiet and so unbearably sad.

Sera would have given anything to see that change. 

She wanted Niamh to be able to smile and laugh again, but she couldn’t because some stupid magister had done some frigged up shite and made her see all those terrible things in a world that should never be. It had torn her friend apart, and she could still remember the absolute rage that ran wild in the woman’s eyes as lightning and fire sparked across her entire body.

The Neevy she knew? 

That hadn’t been her. It was all fury and hate, and as her fingers pressed down on Alexius’ throat, Sera had been afraid, but her fear had been for Niamh—the kind soul who would have offered her last potion to a person in need and _more_ than done anything to make anyone so terrified of her.

And now she wasn’t talking to anyone. 

Sera hated the man they kept chained in the basement instead of being spitted on her arrows. She hated that he had hurt her friend for his own shite reasons. 

But she was going to make it better, she resolved as she pushed her bag into the hands of one of Knifey Shiv-dark’s spies as he passed by on patrol, pointedly telling him to give it to his boss when she came back. 

_This is going to work,_ she thought determinedly as she watched the agent—full of flustered confusion—take the satchel and head off in the direction of the Spymaster’s tent. _It has to…_

* * *

“How long do you intend to let this behavior go on?”

“No subtlety at all this time, Leliana?” Niamh asked as she sat up in bed, wearily rubbing at the bridge of her nose when the woman had simply strode into her cabin. Her Spymaster’s irritation was very much evident in her expression.

“If you had wanted a gentler approach toward this, then surely the last few weeks of our companions trying to cajole you out of hiding would have worked, no?” 

“And you believe it that simple for me to forget that future of Redcliffe? Where I lived simply because others gave their lives to see it through?”

“If it means saving the world, isn’t it worth the cost?”

“I have had _enough_ of others sacrificing themselves for me in this lifetime and the next!” she snapped back, utterly livid at the thought. “I know I’m making a mess of everything while wallowing in here when there’s still much to be done! I’m also aware Cassandra or Cullen would have preferred a warrior’s touch to this—an active hand willing to do what’s necessary!” She gestured sharply out the window into the darkness beyond, scowling bitterly. “Saoirse would have already wandered into the next foray to get the answers we needed. I'm well-aware it should be her here, not me…”

“What?” Leliana’s voice turned incredulous. “Niamh, no one is trying to compare you to her.”

 _They should._ Niamh’s thoughts only turned more sullen as she pressed the meat of her palms against her eyes with a sigh. _They should realize the utter fraud they have in their midst._

“What you’ve been through is not what anyone should have had to deal with. What you discovered in that future gave us more information than we could have hoped for in the days to come. We know what to expect now, and we can better prepare ourselves for it.”

“And now all the eyes of Thedas are upon us, watching to see if we can rise to meet the challenge. Worse, they look to me, expecting their supposed Herald to be able to fix this, but how can I when I couldn’t even keep a simple promise?” she muttered out behind the shield of her arms. “To _her._ My own sister! Saoirse asked me for one thing before that final battle, and that was that I look after our companions, but I didn’t.” Pain swelled in her chest as she swallowed around the lump in her throat. “I didn’t because I was selfish, and like the coward I was, I fled the first moment I could.”

 _And I abandoned you,_ she admitted morosely. _I’ve_ always _abandoned you. I fled from my own feelings when you fell for Saoirse. I fled when she died and left you alone, bereft in that knowledge. I’m not the heroine you need or deserve. How can I be?_ she asked, something painful within her shattering at the mere thought. _In that unforgiving future, I abandoned you to a world that had taken everything from you, where you were tortured and turned into a bitter husk of the woman you once were. Worse, I left you to die, and I can’t escape the guilt of that._

Those were the things she wanted to say, but they were lost in the swirling grief of her thoughts. What came out instead is, “What I saw there… What I saw happen to you—to everyone—” she amended almost too quickly, stumbling over her own tongue with the correction. “—I can’t allow it to happen again.” 

“You realize it wasn’t me there, yes?” She heard footsteps approaching the bed, and Niamh lowered her hands to see Leliana looking down at her in concern. “Whatever she said to hurt you, it wasn’t me. I’m not her.”

“A part of me knows that; yet, another part of me knows I wouldn’t be standing here without her. She said the world crumbled because there had been no one to stop the Empress’ assassination. And without anyone to stop the Breach, the world soon became overrun by demons. That woman and that world still suffered because I wasn’t there, and yet I can’t help but feel I was unworthy of that sacrifice.”

The Venatori had taken Leliana and abused her to inhumane extremes. Although she had kept to her fiery spirit, the flames of it, however, were fueled more by hatred than simple determination. While Leliana had looked at peace with her own death, whispering her final words to her, Niamh had doubts. Had such serenity come to her because she truly believed in Niamh and her ability to set the world right again, or was it because she finally had the chance to rejoin Saoirse in death?

“Is just my being here meant to solve this? To stop a force that took all of Thedas hostage within a year?” she asked, rising from the bed to begin pacing slowly in front of the fireplace. She ran a hand through the dark length of her hair wearily as she spoke. “I don’t know what I’m doing any more than anyone else does, Leliana. I was just supposed to help seal the Breach, and I thought finding the right people to do so would be enough, but how am I to fight an entity I know nothing about?” She sighed in resignation. “My sister would have known what to do.”

“Saoirse led as valiantly and as bravely as she did because she had you,” Leliana countered with a frown. “Were you not the one she went to for tactical advice? Did she not seek you out in matters of negotiation? She knew all that you were capable then, and that still exists in you, but you do not have to bear that duty alone,” she implored. “We would share in your burdens if you would only let us.”

“Leliana, I’m terrified of what it means should I fail in any of this… I’ve seen the cost of it, and I don’t know what I can do to stop it.” 

It was with shame that she admitted that. 

A victory that came at the cost of losing those closest to her? She couldn’t allow it. She wouldn’t be able to bear the crushing weight of it again.

For a time, Leliana said nothing. Then, the other woman moved directly in the path of her pacing, stopping Niamh abruptly.

“We can start with this. You say you expressed remorse when you ran?” she asked. “Then stop running from us here. Let us help you, Niamh.” The soft call of her name bade her to look up into brilliant blue eyes, and it was kept there by the gentle hand on her jaw. “You’ve been alone for so long. As much as you’ve tried to believe distance would make the pain abate, has it truly? Would it really have made the loss of us any better?” As she thought upon it, Niamh bit her lip before reluctantly shaking her head. Leliana nodded. “The attachment you feel for those around you is already there. That has always been a part of who you are, but you must realize that hurting yourself this way is not what any of us wants. You needn't sacrifice all that you are just to try and keep us safe.” She tilted her head, looking down at Niamh's left hand. “We want you here, and it has nothing to do with the titles or even the Mark you bear. Do you understand?”

Niamh merely swallowed and nodded again meekly.

“Good. Now come here.” 

Leliana’s hand slid from her jaw and came to rest on the sleeve of Niamh’s shirt, gently tugging her forward, and she followed along, confused. Then, her nose was filled with the scent that was purely Leliana—roses, incense, and the sweet notes of wine—as she was pulled into a hug, leaving her gasping at the sensation of it, of being pressed this close against the other woman.

“You looked like you needed a hug,” the other woman murmured simply next to her ear, and it took everything she had not to shiver. “Has it been so long since you last had one?”

“No,” she admitted, her answer partially muffled into Leliana’s shoulder. 

Truthfully, she could count on one hand the number of hugs she’d received in the time she’d been away from Ferelden. Niamh had always remembered Leliana’s though. Niamh had treasured such casual intimacy, and the other woman had initiated them freely with her back then.

Then, Saoirse had died, and Niamh had left.

With the knowledge that the Leliana here was so different—yet so similar—to the woman she knew a decade ago, it had seemed… unwise to ask for such a simple comfort. She hadn’t even known if the suggestion of it would have been welcome, but Niamh had missed her hugs all the same.

Slowly, she wrapped one arm around a waist while the other snaked up along the expanse of Leliana’s back to cup a hand around a leather-clad shoulder. [Niamh hugged her for all she was worth, and as she did—inhaling the scent she had long associated with contentment—the tension that had nestled into the crevices of her soul for weeks on end finally began to retreat.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SZ_Z_73RDZM)

* * *

“Sister Leliana?”

She looked up at the hesitant voice calling out to her just as she had been ready to turn into the chantry. Although it was late into the evening, it was still considered an early hour for her—given her role as Spymaster—but after managing to convince Niamh to finally rest, it seemed a good enough idea to follow by example. Still, when she saw Weaver lingering near the edge of her tent, she turned her steps in his direction instead. She arched a brow in question, and the elf merely held out a bag to her. 

“One of the Herald’s companions asked that I deliver this to you,” he said nervously.

Leliana backed up into one of the torches near the chantry as she opened the satchel, using the flickering light to peer curiously into the contents inside. Laughter fell from her lips then in a quiet rush of breath. [“Sera obviously,” she determined easily. “Who else would send me frilly underthings by runner?”](https://youtu.be/1EAEQBvoRTQ?t=283) She waved her agent off. “I’ll take care of this, Weaver. Thank you.”

He seemed beyond grateful as he went back to his usual duties with relief. Meanwhile, Leliana retrieved the note that had been laying atop the collection of smallclothes. It was written in a harsh, hasty scrawl:

 _She said you’d know what to do with these, so do them. She needs a reason to smile again. No sad Harry Harolds allowed!_

Drawn around the words were various amusing caricatures of Sera shooting arrows or breathing fire. In one corner was a drawing of Alexius laid out on the ground—eyes exed out in death—while his rear had apparently been used a pincushion for cartoonish arrows. Other doodles around the perimeter of the parchment were of several underthings surrounding a smiling Niamh. The hairstyle had been a clear giveaway to the woman’s identity. She smiled, looking down at the satchel again, but she tilted her head curiously as she found something of significant interest from within.

“Wait… Are these Josephine’s?” she mused aloud, impish mischief filling her then.

* * *

The following morning, Leliana surreptitiously tracked Niamh’s movements from her tent as the other woman made her way up the stone steps toward the chantry. The fading circles beneath her eyes suggested she had slept some in the night but not nearly as much as she should have. Still, there was more of that familiar alertness within them—a keenness of mind that allowed her to locate anything unfamiliar within her surroundings almost immediately. 

As a shadow flickered across Niamh’s path, Leliana watched as the woman turned her gaze above her and did an instant doubletake. Slowly, the mouth that had once been downturned with muted exhaustion began to curl up into a smile. Then, after several seconds, Niamh’s lips parted as her startled laughter carried across the courtyard—a sound so light and joyful that it stopped all manner of activity for a moment as eyes turned to their Herald in complete astonishment. Leliana realized that they likely had never heard her laugh before or even been this remotely carefree among them. She grinned when several heads turned up to see what had caught Niamh’s attention with such amusement.

There, atop the courtyard’s banner pole, was a fine line of undergarments dancing in the cool breeze.

* * *

[ “My lady, you should know that your Spymaster is an incorrigible prankster!” ](https://youtu.be/LtrLpKaecLU?t=132) Josie exclaimed—beyond miffed—the moment Niamh stepped into the War Room.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Leliana remarked blithely, already lining up a few of her map markers along the edges of the table.

“No?” her friend demanded, a small flush overtaking her cheeks. “My… My things! In the courtyard!”

“The ruffles were _very_ festive.”

At her words, Josie stamped a foot, giving a small whine. “Leliana!”

Their antics only seemed to feed Niamh’s amusement as she chuckled upon reaching her place at the War Table. Her smile was still evident as she spoke, but there was a sheepishness in her expression as well as she regarded Josie. “Before we begin, could I ask if we have any more tea, Lady Montilyet? And perhaps some of those almond biscuits? I’m afraid I didn’t have a chance to break my fast this morning before our meeting.”

It had been Niamh’s excuse of late when they had pressed her to eat before. Her appetite had been worryingly bird-like the past few weeks. That she was actively asking for food again was a positive sign of her improving mood.

“I… Yes.” Josie had blinked at first at her request, but then her smile widened, likely coming to the same conclusion Leliana had. “Let me prepare a small plate for you, my lady.”

“Thank you. How are we coming along in regards to what we asked of our allies?”

“Teyrn Cousland’s forces in Highever as well as that of his contacts’ are ready to move at our word should we need them,” Josie said, handing her a cup of tea and a small tray of biscuits. “In addition, the King and Queen of Ferelden have offered further supplies for the refugees in The Hinterlands. The people there should be relatively comfortable for the time being as some of our scouts aid in rebuilding the homes lost in the initial fighting.”

Niamh nibbled idly on one of the almond biscuits given to her. “Did we ever manage to get a map of the land around Master Dennet’s farm? He wanted aid regarding a few things before he agreed to release some of his horses to us.” 

“I have it right here,” Leliana said, unraveling it on her side of the War Table, placing her raven map markers at the corners to help it rest flat against the wooden surface. She motioned for Niamh to join her there, and the woman took a sip of her tea before she made her way over. “This details more of the topography around Dennet’s farm. As such, we’ll have a clearer idea of where we can begin putting up the watch towers he requested.”

“Hm,” Niamh hummed thoughtfully as she peered down at the map before flickering ghostly grey eyes over to her. “Would you mind if I made a few suggestions regarding their locations?”

Leliana straightened in place at the words, pleased that the other woman was taking an active role in their meetings again. She gestured toward her remaining markers, offering them up freely, and she watched as Niamh took one gently.

“Now, as I see it…”

As Niamh began relaying her thoughts aloud, Leliana exchanged a glance with Josie. While the other woman’s excitement was more evident than her own, it seemed they shared a common relief over Niamh’s improved well-being. She nodded along quietly to Niamh’s words as she moved other markers to a few strategic points along the map.

“There’s a choke point between these two valleys here, but the copse of trees would allow the tower to be otherwise invisible from anyone traveling through them. Enough to sound an alarm to the other towers if needed,” Niamh explained.

Leliana had no complaint regarding the location—it was one she would have chosen herself—and she nodded in approval. Not that she had been surprised at all by the decision. Leliana had long been aware Niamh was the type of woman who could uncover a riddle wrapped within the mystery of an enigma. They were both extraordinarily clever in that way, and their strengths had always played well to one another, especially when they had a common goal in mind. Leliana leaned down to point at one of the secondary locations, voice low as she shared a comment with her.

“What do you think of this location here?”

“Out near the open field?” Niamh rested an elbow in her palm as she rubbed a knuckle along her jawline in thought. Then, her eyes widened minutely in realization. “Ah. If enemies see the obvious target first, they’re less inclined to pay attention to ones that aren’t nearly as apparent.”

The corners of Leliana’s lips lifted up into a smile, ever impressed. “Precisely.”

"Very well.” Niamh nodded in approval, moving a free marker there. “I do like the idea of these watch towers. Could we implement something similar in the village we met Mother Giselle in?” That pale gaze turned to her then. _Thank you,_ they said even as she launched into another explanation. “With as often as we traveled to and from Redcliffe, I spotted a few noteworthy locations for them.”

“With the resources we gained from our contacts, I’m certain we can,” Leliana assured. And to Niamh’s silent comment, her own gaze softened in answer. _Always._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And just so you all know, I have the beginnings of an [Arranged Marriage AU](https://morganaseren.tumblr.com/post/627393679459483649) posted up on my Tumblr. Let me know what you think about it, whether here or on my blog! Would it be something you'd all like to read at some point? Or would you rather read the sequel to OtSttCA first before I start working on something completely different to this story's universe?
> 
> As always, thanks so much for the attention you've given my fic! Considering how small this ship is, I honestly didn't expect to get this many hits, let alone the amount of kudos and comments you've sent my way so far! I appreciate every one of you!


	14. May You Need Never to Banish Misfortune

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day to seal the Breach is finally upon them all. With the efforts of her new mage allies, Niamh succeeds in closing the immense rift. It is a cause for celebration certainly, but Niamh knows only all too well that Fate is never considerate enough to leave her be for long…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this somehow came out to 42 pages this time around. I don't even know, guys. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

“Today’s the day then?” Leliana asked as she and Niamh strolled around the perimeter of the lake outside Haven. Enough of her own duties had been seen to—an admittedly rare lull in activity—that she allowed herself the small break, and it seemed that her friend also appreciated the company. Niamh nodded to her inquiry although she kept her gaze on the mages sparring in a nearby field. 

“Between me, Lady Vivienne, and her Knight-Enchanter associates training the mages, we’re as ready as we’ll ever be.” The corner of her lips quirked up into a small, amused smile. “Granted, I think [Commander Helaine](https://youtu.be/Wj5C_mqJOM8?t=393) would rather fine-tune a few things in regards to staff stances and striking techniques, but for our purposes, they’ll pass muster.”

Leliana eyed the woman in question, who was busy supervising the large number of apprentices through various drills, staff point striking the earth to the rhythm of each motion. Dark-haired and dark-eyed, Commander Helaine was of slighter stature—typical of most elves—with stern, angular features. She was dressed in the Circle robes suited for an Enchanter but hers held varying shades of grey along with more solid, earth-based colors. Like all the visiting Knight-Enchanters, however, Helaine also wore intricately-crafted gauntlets and greaves, which Leliana learned was by necessity, given their preferred methods of close quarters combat compared to other mages.

She was powerful and exacting in the standards she expected of her trainees, for barring Lady Vivienne, Helaine was also the one largely overseeing everything in regards to their mage allies in terms of training. While the other Knight-Enchanters—a diverse mix of humans and elves alike—seemed just as capable in their abilities, they deferred to her out of respect, and it was one well-given. 

“That woman is a force of her own, isn’t she?” Leliana mused, watching as Commander Helaine stepped forth to correct a young mage’s stance with verbal instruction. Her features had been as neutral as ever, but her words apparently hadn’t been unkind, as the girl was quickly nodding with determination as she switched the positioning of her feet into a more appropriate one. 

“Yes, Lady Vivienne spoke highly of her—for good reason, it seems.” Niamh frowned lightly then. “Given the social stigma that elves face as well as being a mage, I’m sure it would have proven difficult to advance to her current ranking. It speaks well of her perseverance. Much like how Lady Vivienne elevated her position as a mage within the Imperial Court, the Commander has built a reputation all her own.” 

“There’s a mutual respect there, I think. I normally see them within each other’s company.”

“Agreed.” Grey eyes blinked then, vague surprise filling their depths then as she considered something. “I think her presence might also be rubbing off on our own Commander. I’ve noticed his own troops seem more energized as of late. Perhaps having others oversee the mages helped eased his own anxiety a bit.”

* * *

_Upon her arrival with the other Knight-Enchanters, Commander Helaine quickly earned a reputation among the mages and soldiers alike, but while she was strict in her instruction, she wasn’t unreasonable._

_“You would not have been able to cast a spell that far when we first started,” were the words Niamh had caught while walking through the training grounds following a mission. A few body-lengths away, she had seen the other woman kneel before a girl no less than a decade old, who had been quietly sniffling over what she had thought to be a failed conjuring of ability. Commander Helaine had smiled considerately then. “You are making progress—slowly but surely,” she reassured. “That in itself is its own accomplishment. Well done.”_

_Another day, she had caught the final fragments of a disagreement between her and an apprentice—an adolescent boy, who had been infamous about the encampment for his stubbornness. From what Niamh had been able to piece together, the boy had likely objected to having to change his method of fighting when it had suited him well for years._

_Commander Helaine had calmly looked at him before simply waving a hand, which led the other Knight-Enchanters into clearing the other apprentices off to the side for the impromptu sparring match between her and the obstinate apprentice. Helaine held her staff in a relaxed grip behind her back, shifting into a stance that left her feet evenly spaced apart while her opposite shoulder angled itself toward her opponent, who stood facing her directly. The woman merely gestured at him with a few crooked fingers—allowing him to start the match at his leisure—and he did so with relish._

_Immediately, a barrage of fireballs were sent the Commander’s way, but with subtle shifts of her body, she was able to evade them without overcorrecting her position one way or the other—something that had been evident in the boy's own fighting style when Niamh had been watching them all earlier. As Helaine continued dodging, she was also making her way toward her opponent with alarming speed._

_The apprentice realized this, and he only continued to backtrack, not bothering to hold his ground. Desperately, he cast a line of fire in her direction in an attempt to recreate the distance between them, but before the flames could even reach their peak, Helaine had simply jumped over them. With her sudden forward momentum, she stretched out a hand, which struck the boy in the chest, and without a grounding stance to aid him, he soon fell onto his back with a hard thud. He grunted from the impact, and he found a staff point at his throat a moment later. He swallowed hard beneath it before his gaze nervously followed the shaft of it up to the Knight-Enchanter’s cold, dark eyes._

_“Had you found yourself against an easier target—a mage with no training for instance—you likely would have had the advantage. Realize, however, you will not always have the luxury of range to your advantage and that your opponents will not always be fellow mages. If I was able to close the distance between us as well as defeat you without resorting to magic, imagine what would have happened had you found yourself up in close quarters against a warrior or a rogue.” Her lips downturned into a deep frown before she moved her staff away from him and settled it against her back. “Even if such situations might prove a rare occasion at best, I’d rather you practice good habits that will save you in the long run than enforce bad ones that may very well leave you dead the next day. Understood?”_

_Chastised, the boy merely nodded obediently, rubbing at his throat as he rose to his feet._

_“Good.” Helaine raised her head to the rest of the trainees as she made her way back to her usual position at the end of the field. “Alright. Pair up for sparring practice. Remember: no theatrics. I want to see precision in your casting. Explosions of pomp do nothing but waste your energy, and in a battle, every last bit of your mana matters.” She held her hands behind her sternly before casting a critical eye over each mage. “Begin.”_

* * *

_It became evident that Helaine exercised patience for those still learning their craft and applied pressure when needed to those who felt they knew better than her teachings—an iron hand within a velvet glove of unwavering confidence._

_From this, Cullen had an example to follow, as he would shadow her at the Commander’s own insistence, and Niamh had been present for such a lesson when she wished to see the progress of their allies. She had noticed that while some mages spared him a glance, they continued to train diligently under the Knight-Enchanters in their midst, and she was pleased to see how quickly they had improved since finding them at Redcliffe. As her gaze continued to span across the field, she was mindful of the conversation behind her._

_“Look at them as you would any of your soldiers,” Helaine had told Cullen. “See past their differences, and you will see what they’ll be able to offer and more. Coal may turn to diamonds with enough pressure, but you must understand that some may never have a true gift for magic just as some recruits will never have an art for war.”_

_“But that… That doesn’t help us with our current objective, does it?”_

_“In an ideal world, positions like yours and mine would never have to be needed. Would you want Thedas filled with only soldiers instead of those who can help carry the world forward from day to day? Is that not what farmers, bakers, blacksmiths, and men and women of various other trades do?” Out of the corner of her eye, Niamh saw the Commander turn more fully to Cullen then. “The ones ill-suited for war may not be able to fight on the front lines as we do, but that does not mean they cannot aid in the peace that follows. I ask that you remember that.”_

* * *

“Honestly, I’d take the woman as an advisor in a heartbeat were she open to the idea,” Niamh drawled, brushing aside the long fringe her hair from her eyes when a passing breeze unsettled the strands there. 

“You could always ask her.”

“We’ll see.” She sighed. “Of our War Council, Cullen may be the least-adjusted to all of this. In relatively short order, we saw the mages freed from the Circle of Magi and then consequently made allies. He swore his life to the Order because he admired them, but it also means he had no way of properly preparing himself for this type of likelihood.” Almost reluctantly, however, she added, “He is showing some improvement in how he carries himself around the mages though. That is progress—small though it might be. He says he remains committed to his duties as Commander. How true that proves remains to be seen.”

Leliana followed alongside Niamh as they finished their walk around the lake’s edge and began making their way back into Haven’s compound through the soldiers’ training ground. As they did, she saw how Cullen tried to covertly watch Niamh out of the corner of his eye. While the other woman hadn’t been aware of his attention—she always seemed preoccupied by other things on her mind—Leliana always was. She pursed her lips, wondering if perhaps he had incentive to prove himself a better man now. It was hardly a notable bar to surpass given his behavior in Kinloch Hold years ago. 

“His anti-mage sentiments do prove worrisome, given who we have as allies now,” Leliana said reasonably as they entered Niamh’s cabin, and the other woman merely sighed, conceding to her point.

“Had he not shown any progress at all, I would be more adamant about the idea of replacing him outright, but a change in the organization’s structure this close to one of our goals coming to fruition might do more harm than good." 

“Hm. Well, I suppose they say even the oldest of Fereldan dogs can learn new tricks when pressed.”

Niamh arched a brow at her as busied herself with something on the table. “You do realize he’s close to my age, don’t you?”

“Hush,” Leliana chastised, rolling her eyes at her friend. “I doubt you were ever a poor student.” Her smile turned a touch more indulgent when Niamh laughed, the lingering notes of the sound filling the cabin with as much warmth as the lit hearth.

“In any case, perhaps after we close the Breach and begin gathering more information about this Elder One, I’ll be able to give the matter the proper diligence it is due.”

“A fair point. Now what was it that required my attention?” Leliana padded closer when Niamh gestured for her to join her at the table, where the woman was beginning to unwrap a package encased in rawhide.

“I meant to give this to you earlier, but I suppose with things being as hectic as they are as of late, it managed to slip my mind,” she admittedly ruefully before unfolding the length of the leather, revealing a bundle of a dozen arrows inside. “Still, I hope you’ll like these.”

Leliana leaned in closer to inspect them curiously. They were all finely-crafted, she could admit, but she noted more than a few stunning—and familiar—details on them. “These designs here…” she trailed off, tracing the image of a wolf charred onto the surface of the shaft. “Didn’t I see you draw them before?”

“Ah. Before Redcliffe? Yes. I was trying to figure out what I wanted before I committed to doing the pyrography,” she said, and the admission of that had Leliana looking toward her, both brows raising.

“You made these yourself?”

“Yes.” The corner of Niamh’s turned up into a sheepish half-smile. “I asked Sera to teach me, and once I had the burn marks on the arrows completed, she sent them off to one of her Jennies.” She shrugged. “Apparently one of them knows a thing or two about enchanting. She was able to place elemental runes on them for me, so you have four of each element. Fire.” She pointed to an arrow shaft that had the bird with flames engraved into it. “Lightning.” The image of the storm. “And ice.” The wolf Leliana had seen earlier.

“And you made these for me?” she couldn’t help but ask, stunned. “Why?”

Dark brows simply furrowed themselves at her question. “Because you told me that I owed you a dozen arrows.”

It took only a heartbeat for Leliana to recall the incident the other woman had been referring to, but when she did, a small rush of incredulous laughter escaped her in a single breath. “Oh, Niamh... You didn’t need to go through all the trouble. I was only teasing.”

Niamh only rolled her shoulders in a shrug, smiling. “Yes, but I felt badly anyway that I incinerated your last batch of arrows with my lightning. These, on the other hand, have been enhanced to withstand most magical attacks. With the exception of the arrowhead, which you’ll have to sharpen on occasion to keep the edge needed, you likely won’t have to replace these from wear and tear—provided you don’t lose them, of course.” 

The woman then handed one of the arrows over for her to properly inspect, and Leliana took it delicately in both hands, testing the weight of them. Even with the runes—small and evenly embedded throughout the shaft—they weren’t particularly heavier than the normal ones she used, and the balance seemed perfectly manageable.

“Hm. I should have planned this better,” Niamh murmured, and Leliana looked up to see her friend staring at the thick gloves she wore with mild concern. “I’m not certain if you still use archery gloves, but in any case, to activate the secondary effect on the arrows, you need to touch your bare fingertips to those runes there.”

“Any one of them?” she asked, as she settled the arrow back onto the table with the others and began removing her gloves, laying them neatly over the back of a chair.

“Any will do, yes,” Niamh confirmed. “Once you do, they’ll be attuned to only your touch. As such, even were an enemy to somehow retrieve these, they wouldn’t be able to activate the runes—not without another enchanter going through a myriad of steps to remove and re-adapt them at any rate.”

“Some days I feel you’re far too clever for your own good at times,” she teased even as she followed Niamh’s instructions, taking an arrow and pressing a fingertip to a fiery-red rune. It, and the remaining runes along the shaft, lit up instantly with a muted glow before returning to their natural luster. As they faded, the arrowhead immediately became engulfed with flame, and though she had expected it, Leliana remained remarkably impressed. She had seen enchanted bows and other magical weapons over the years, but arrows? These were a first for her. “Far too clever indeed,” she repeated, running the thumb over a rune again to extinguish the fire. “We’re lucky to have you working with us. I can only imagine how our enemies feel when they're matched against you.”

“Hardly. The Inquisition has you here as well after all,” Niamh insisted, but from her smile, she seemed pleased her gift was being well-received. She jerked her chin toward the remainder of the arrows on the table. “You just need to repeat the process for the rest of them, and they’ll be ready to use should you need them.” 

“I do appreciate the gift, but why did you decide to give this to me now?” she questioned even as she began picking up the arrows one by one to attune them to her touch.

“Well, originally, I planned their creation before Redcliffe, but given everything that happened there…” Niamh trailed off with her thought, and Leliana knew to just let the matter be. There was no need to drag the other woman through such painful memories again—not when she almost hadn’t been able to help her last time. Niamh had been so deep in her misery and guilt back then, and she felt a flash of pain upon remembering that night. “I wanted you to have every advantage you could possibly have on the off-chance we can’t seal the Breach.”

“You’ve doubts that you and our allies will be able to manage it?” Leliana frowned, but Niamh simply shrugged.

“I’m a tactician. I have to at least plan for the possibility even if it’s one that can’t be easily swallowed,” she replied sensibly. “Commander Helaine and half the Knight-Enchanters will be accompanying me with the bulk of the mages to the Breach. I’ll have Lady Vivienne leading the remaining forces here along with the rest of her associates—a failsafe in case the rift does unleash a slew of demons.” Her teeth worried at her bottom lip briefly. “Strategically, Haven isn’t really a suitable location for the Inquisition’s base of operations, and it certainly isn’t built to handle a heavy, sustained assault for that matter.”

Leliana was inclined to agree, but even with the weeks they had to prepare against the Breach, attempting to move their organization elsewhere in addition to that likely wouldn’t have been an easy feat—not with the bolstered numbers they had now. “It’s something to look into thoroughly when you get back. We’ll make due at any rate.”

“I’ll see if I can’t ask my brother for some advice on the matter.” The barest hint of a smile—one filled with hesitant worry—graced her features then. “I’ve no doubt you’ll all be able to see to the village’s safety. I’ll try not to be gone too long.”

* * *

Niamh felt her very bones rattle as she began harnessing the power of the Mark. Fire had never harmed her, but she had always felt the heat of her own abilities. This, however, was just on the edge of searing, waiting to freefall into manageable relief or descend further into twisted agony. Her magic had protested the very idea of the Mark when it first appeared—trying to envelop it and quell it like a disease—and she felt the effect more heavily each and every time the strange energy flared along her palm. In recent weeks, however, the sensation had become tolerable—albeit marginally so. 

Her magic hadn’t suffered thankfully. She could still conjure spells with all the force she had at her disposal, but she feared the longer the Mark remained branded upon her, the more her magic would become intertwined with it. Would there come a day when she could no longer distinguish between one or the other?

“On your call, Your Worship.”

Niamh drew herself out of her thoughts to see Commander Helaine approaching her side. The woman spared a brief glance at the power building within her palm. There was enough energy that it caused her hand to veer out a place a few times as her fingers shook even with her concentrated efforts to keep it steady. Faint worry lingered in the other woman’s eyes, but her demeanor remained as professional as always—a fact Niamh could appreciate. She nodded then.

“Have our allies ready themselves. As soon as the Mark interacts with the Breach, that will be their signal to act,” she said, and she received a nod of confirmation as Helaine moved back beyond her line of sight. 

Niamh could dimly hear the orders being called out behind her. She felt the energy singing within the air as the other mages began building up their own magic, but she kept her gaze firmly on the rift before them. It almost seemed to taunt her with how it fluxed rapidly in reaction to her Mark with the familiar sounds of shattering glass and crystal, reminding her of her failure when she last attempted this. 

With what was at stake—a shiver of fear trickled down her spine when she recalled Future Redcliffe—she couldn’t abide the unspoken insult. Resolve surged within her, and she held her hand out toward the rift. Pain lanced up her arm immediately, and she grit her teeth, suppressing the cries so prevalent on her tongue. When the magic of the other mages then combined with her own to pour into the ever-shifting portal, it was almost a balm against her senses, but she couldn’t afford to loosen her control. 

Niamh had to make sure there was no doubt it was closed this time.

She would not allow its presence to threaten the world and those she cared for.

Leliana would _never_ have to sacrifice herself for her again. 

And then the rift above them brightened to blinding levels as magic continually flooded into it. The resulting shockwave thereafter was what took Niamh—and her nearest allies—off their feet, but as the dust settled, she no longer sensed the telltale magical instability of a nearby rift. Grey eyes turned to examine the heavens, and Niamh was relieved there wasn’t any evidence of the Breach’s presence at all, save for the vortex of clouds continuing to swirl overhead. 

Perhaps that was evidence enough the immense tear had been properly sealed this time. She would have to ask Solas to verify that fact later when he next entered the Fade, but as Commander Helaine helped her to her feet—an expression of utter approval on her features amidst the cries of victory in the background—her worries were appeased for the time being. 

_One step at a time,_ Niamh reminded herself. _For now, we can rest easy._

* * *

Festivities had commenced upon their return to Haven. Even from a distance, the absence of the Breach was obvious, and it was further proof their heroes had succeeded in their endeavors.

While Niamh had allowed enough of her presence to be seen those first few hours of the celebration, she had retired back into her cabin before long. She could still hear the fanfare outside her walls, however, and she expected it would continue long into the night. 

When Leliana had asked to join her, she had offered no objections—inwardly, she had been thrilled by the request—and they both sat at the table before the warm fireplace, drinking alcohol and enjoying each other’s company. Save for the location, Niamh could almost imagine it was another night's watch together at the campfire back during their more adventurous days. 

“Where in the world did you get this?” Leliana asked as she eyed the bottle that had nearly been caked over completely in dust.

“You’d be surprised how often I find these out on the road.” Amusement filled her even as she worked a thumb over the label, trying to discern any notable dates. She turned it over to Leliana for inspection. “I think this one might be a good year. It tasted fine to me at any rate, but I’m hardly an expert on the subject.”

“Hm. 8:69 Blessed. A good year indeed.” Red brows rose minutely then as Leliana brushed over something near the base of the bottle. “Ah. This is an Orlesian liqueur.”

“How can you tell?” she asked, but humor only flashed in the crystal blue eyes across from her as Leliana turned the bottle over to show her the… very erotically-carved peach pit she had uncovered along the glass. Niamh’s eyes widened in increments as realization slowly dawned over her, and she cursed inwardly when she felt the heat rising to her cheeks in reaction. “Oh,” she uttered, hiding her grimace behind the curve of her wooden cup. 

“Not to worry,” Leliana reassured with a small laugh. “It’s a good bottle. While I’ve more a preference for sweet wines, I’ve never been disappointed with a glass of _Charnelle_ the few times I’ve had it.”

“Ah. That’s the name of it then?”

“Yes. It translates to ‘carnal’ in Common,” she said simply, crossing one leg over the other at the knee as sipped at her own cup. “It’s the type of liqueur meant for the daring, or those who want to seem so at least. It’s also said to enhance sensation.”

“It...” She swallowed, her curiosity outweighing her caution even as she felt she was being led into a trap. "It is?"

“Mmhm,” Leliana hummed in confirmation even as she rested a cheek in her hand, pure mischief in her gaze as she smiled. “In bed preferably, but I suppose any flat surface would do if the need were urgent enough.”

 _Maker’s breath,_ she cursed with an inward groan, utterly certain her ears were burning now. It was made all the more evident when she saw Leliana’s eyes dart in the direction of one with unerring precision. _She is never going to let me live this down..._

“I... I can get you something else to drink,” she offered, mortified, even as she racked her mind over what bottles she had collected over recent months during her travels. “I honestly just liked this for its sweetness. I wasn’t trying to imply—” She bit her lip, unable to look the other woman in the eye. “I think there’s a few bottles of brandy or whiskey left if you’d find that more preferable. Let me just—” The hand on her forearm stopped her before she could get up.

“No, no. This is fine,” Leliana insisted even though amusement was still evident in her voice, but her eyes—still such a startlingly pale shade of blue even after all these years—were sincere. “I’m sorry; I forgot how easy it was to tease you. I can stop if it makes you truly uncomfortable.” 

“Oh.” Her blush was finally starting to fade, and she was thankful for it. “No. It’s alright.” Niamh admittedly liked that Leliana still felt comfortable enough around her to try such a thing. She could endure a bit of teasing at her expense if it meant she could see the other woman this open with her. “I suppose given how often I spent away from others over the past decade, I forgot that this—” She gestured to the space between them both. “—was commonplace.”

Leliana’s gaze softened with her smile. “I’ll try to be more mindful about reminding you then.” She refilled her cup before holding it up, and Niamh obligingly clinked it against her own before they both drank. “Commander Helaine says you and our allies performed admirably at the Breach.”

“High praise indeed, given she’s one of Lady Vivienne’s associates.” With the Breach properly sealed now, it was certainly one less thing to worry about; yet, she couldn’t help but turn her attention to her left palm. Even with her gloves—a fingerless set that allowed her to wield her staff more deftly—she still felt the presence of the Mark there. She could see the rivulets of green in her mind’s eye. “I had hoped… Well. No matter.”

“Niamh.” She looked up to see Leliana staring at her with concern. “We’ll find a way to remove it. Lady Vivienne is apparently quite the alchemist in her spare time. If not her, surely we can find someone among our growing number of contacts who can help. More will only continue to pour in once word spreads of your heroism.”

“It’s not like I sealed the Breach myself, Leliana. It was a concentrated effort—a test of alliance—and it was only unfortunate luck that happened to put me in the center of it all,” she said, idly flexing the fingers of the hand which held her Mark. “I’m glad we were able to succeed in this. I just wanted…” She sighed, knowing that she sounded unappreciative. When a hand gently laid itself over her palm, she drew her eyes up to Leliana.

“At one point, this was a threat to your life,” Leliana said softly, understanding in her tone. “You had every right to worry then, and perhaps now you still do. We don’t yet know in what new ways the Mark will affect you, but we can be there to help you so long as you are willing to let us.” She paused then, frowning. “Tell me, if the Mark had disappeared with the Breach and there wasn’t an Elder One left to find, would you have left us?”

“Wouldn’t that have been the logical conclusion?” Niamh asked, a frown of her own forming although hers was one borne of confusion. “What use would the Inquisition have for me if the goal sought has been completed?”

“You think yourself so easily replaced?”

“No, but the Chantry came about because of the previous Inquisition’s end, didn’t it? Ours may fall under the same fate one day, and with it, there’s no guarantee everything won’t just return to what it was.” She rotated the cup of liqueur between her fingertips—slow so as to not let it grate against the surface of the table—as she gathered her thoughts. “Honestly, in all the Chantry’s history, have you ever heard of a mage within it that hadn’t been turned into a cautionary tale? Of the dangers we pose to society if left unchecked? Even recent events with the destruction of Kirkwall’s chantry and the unfortunate circumstances surrounding the former rebel mages in Redcliffe don’t paint my people in the best light. I expect such an institution to change our story to suit its own needs when the time comes, perhaps when they finally finishing arguing amongst themselves over the Divine Election rather than helping the people most in need of their guidance.” 

Her words had ended on a more bitter note that she had intended, but her thoughts regarding the Chantry had long been tumultuous at best. When Niamh looked up to see Leliana, there was an expression on her features that she couldn’t place. She took it to be disapproval, and she chided herself for not leaving the matter well enough alone when she had the chance. Even as tired as Niamh was, that was no excuse for her to insult Leliana’s faith—not when she kept it so close to her heart. She wet her lips nervously. 

“But to continue on from your earlier question, yes; I would have left once the Inquisition had no need of me. As to where, I can’t readily say. I spent so long across the Waking Sea, avoiding all the problems I left behind here in Ferelden. I didn’t expect there to still be some good left after my departure.” She smiled then, remembering a letter her brother had written to her recently. “Fergus has never been shy about reminding me that I could return to Highever whenever I pleased. Perhaps I might visit there when all this is through.”

Leliana allowed the change in subject with more grace than Niamh felt she deserved. “A visit, you say?” Curiosity was evident in her voice. “Do you no longer feel like Highever is home to you then?”

That was admittedly a difficult question to answer. 

Even since she had been taken away to Ferelden’s Circle as a child, she had spent more time in the Tower than she ever had on the lands where she had been born. Visits back to the Cousland estate had been infrequent at best—occurring every year at first and then every other year in between—but it was enough that she couldn’t hold a conversation with her mother or the maternal side of the family in their native tongue anymore. Not like her siblings could. Her mother had only begun to teach her the proper linguistics of it before her magic had developed. Then, without anyone in the Tower there who spoke the language, what knowledge she had of it was left to languish in disuse. When Niamh visited home, her mother and siblings translated phrases more into Common for her whenever she had been lost in the conversation. Her father had tried to sympathize, as the learning of languages had never been his strong suit—fantastic Teyrn though he was otherwise.

It never changed the fact Niamh loved her family dearly—and the sentiment was returned equally—but she still felt she had lost some deeper connection with them as a result of their forced separation. The thought of it had always been an ever-present thorn in her side no matter how impressive her mastery over her magic was. Had such power been worth losing a part of her identity? 

“No,” she said distractedly, answering Leliana’s question even as more of her own arose. “Home is…” Niamh drew her gaze away from Leliana and focused her attention instead on a grain pattern along the table. “Well, it’s a moot point at best. Maybe when this is all over, I’ll finally know.”

But she had long known the answer.

It was simply something she could never reveal. Not then, and certainly not now. That they were sat together like this, enjoying one another’s company, while a fire roared nearby to keep them warm… 

_Home will always be wherever you are._

And then the warning toll of the bells stole them both out of the quiet peace of the cabin. They exchanged similar grim expressions before rushing to their feet, drinks forgotten in the adrenaline of whatever could have trespassed upon them.

“Gather your agents. Be prepared to help any civilian evacuate into the chantry,” Niamh said even as she picked up her staff that had laid against the nearby wall, situating it across her back. She could already hear Cullen’s call of enemy forces approaching the gate in the distance, and she gritted her teeth at the news. “I’ll join the Commander to determine what’s going on.”

Leliana nodded in answer and was out the door in a flash while Niamh cursed her luck as she headed toward the main gate. _I suppose a night’s reprieve had been too much to ask…_

* * *

It had seemed the Templars had taken offense to her siding with the mages, and for such a slight, their answer had been to attack the Inquisition’s base of operations in droves, heedless of the innocents who could have been caught in the midst of it all. It should have been surprising, but Niamh was no stranger to Templars and their prejudices. She could have repelled a small force of them on her own, but against the numbers she and her party were up against? She couldn’t guarantee an easy victory, especially now that their enemies had all been enhanced by red lyrium—a gift of the dreaded Elder One they had sworn allegiance to.

With the trebuchets situated around the perimeter of the village walls, they had managed to turn the tide somewhat, burying a large bulk of the now designated Red Templars in the ensuing avalanches. In doing so, they had reduced the Elder One’s invading forces and barred any attempts for them to gain quick access to Haven, which was a boon, as Niamh feared that the twisted fate of their enemies likely would have been the same for her mage allies had she not gone to Redcliffe to help. 

_That would have been the beginning of the end,_ she realized of the Elder One’s sinister motivations. _With all the mages and Templars under his control, no one would have been able to stop him._

The only option was to continue to remain several steps ahead of him, which she had succeeded in thus far by denying him the mages he desired and sealing the Breach that would have given him a demon army at his disposal.

What she hadn’t expected, however, was the High Dragon—twisted as much as the Templars with the red lyrium embedded across its hide—under the Elder One’s control. As Niamh eyed its immense, hideous form, she felt a sinking sense of horror settling within her. _No… It can’t be._

But the apparent Archdemon hadn’t been content to let their momentary victory linger, and it quickly proceeded to turn the tides of battle, laying down plumes of destructive fire in its wake. Niamh and her party had no choice but to retreat back to the chantry and regroup, helping surviving stragglers along the way toward safety.

* * *

“Even from a distance I could sense how powerful he was, but the magic around him was…” Niamh grimaced. “…distorted to a degree I can’t possibly fathom. Nothing about this Elder One is natural, and I can’t imagine conventional methods of war are going to be enough to stop him.” She sighed as she eyed Cullen, who was equally upset about their situation. “Not that it matters at this point. He has us cornered, and he knows it.”

"Agreed. Whatever that beast is, it’s cut a path for that army, and they’ll kill everyone in Haven.”

“The Elder One doesn’t care about the village,” Cole—a most curious, young man who had come to offer them aid at the start of the Red Templars’ approach—said with seemingly absolute certainly. “He only wants the Herald.”

Niamh’s brows furrowed. “Whatever for? Was this attack a punishment for what I had taken from him?”

“I don’t know. He’s too loud; it hurts to hear him,” he said, which only puzzled her even more, as it implied Cole was capable of reading the Elder One’s mind—a feat she hadn’t realized was generally possible. “He wants to kill you. No one else matters, but he’ll crush them and kill them anyway.” He bowed his head further, hiding his face more behind the brim of his hat. “I don’t like him,” he murmured. 

“Lady Cousland.” Cullen’s voice had her turning to him then, and his expression was grave. “We may only have one option available to us. There’s still one last trebuchet yet to be launched; we could use it to cause one last avalanche.”

“You’re suggesting we bury Haven to stop them for good?” she asked, disbelief filling her. 

“We… We’re already dying, but we can decide how,” he told her softly, resignation in his voice. “Many don’t get that choice.”

And he was right in the matter, reluctant as she was to accept defeat. The tactician within her protested the very thought of being outplayed, but the woman beneath it all was saddened that so many lives—all of whom had looked to her for safety—would die in the place that they flocked to for sanctuary. It was a cruel irony, and a final twist of a knife in her back. 

“Wait. Chancellor Roderick can help,” Cole said then, and Niamh was drawn out of her reverie. She frowned as she looked to him and then Roderick in confusion, having not heard a word from the latter.

“Oh?”

“There is a path,” Roderick rasped as he looked to her earnestly. “You wouldn’t know of it unless you made the summer pilgrimage as I have. The people _can_ escape. She… Andraste must have shown me so that I could tell you. It was whim that I walked it to begin with. I did not mean to start; it was overgrown,” he said, clutching his side in pain, and it was reflected in the watery sheen of his eyes. Still, there was… a hopefulness within that gaze that bade her to listen and consider his words. “Now, with so many in the Conclave dead… To be the only one who remembers, I… I don’t know. If this simple memory can save us,” he entreated, “then this could be more than mere accident. _You_ could be more.”

Niamh, however, wasn’t quite so certain. Although it seemed Roderick had come to believe in her with what would likely be the final hours of his life, she wondered if simple faith was enough to overcome the obstacles pressing upon them. She turned her gaze away from him to stare at the crowds of people gently being ushered further into the chantry by Josephine and Leliana, who were doing their best to keep everyone calm despite their circumstances. Could she deny them this chance—the hope that they would live to see another day?

She knew the answer as soon as she drew her attention to the wooden doors that marked the entrance of the building. 

“I’ve seen that look enough times before. What are you thinking?” Cullen asked curiously, coaxing her back to the present.

“With our War Council, my inner circle, the villagers, and our troops and allies…” She trailed off, working her jaw over pensively. “It’s a considerable number of people who need to be evacuated, but we won’t have time to get them all to safety if we don’t act against the Elder One first.” She narrowed her eyes, a well of fire burning inside her chest in anticipation of what awaited her. “Go. Help guide them out,” she said to Roderick, and at that, Cole helped the Chancellor to walk toward the back of the chantry and begin the trek toward what was hopefully salvation. 

“Wait! What about what happens when the mountain falls?” Cullen pressed anxiously. “What about you?”

Niamh merely stared at him in silence, allowing him to come to the likely conclusion for himself, and when he did with horrified realization, she glanced away with a sigh. “A lifetime ago, you once told my sister that [mages were unlike anyone else—weapons capable of lighting an entire city on fire in a fit of pique.](https://youtu.be/pgr7We-5gHk?t=397) In all the years I’ve lived, I’ve never forgotten the dangers of magic, but I’ve never fallen to the lure of the demons within the Fade either.” A short breath of exhausted laughter fell from her lips then. “How could I when there was nothing within that could possibly tempt me more than what I had found outside of it?” she asked, her mind’s eye drawing forth several images. 

A flash of crimson hair more brilliant than the sun’s rays.

Eyes that were the most piercing shade of glacial blue.

A voice and—with it—the gift of song that could still all of Thedas with its beauty.

Cullen looked absolutely stricken. “Lady Cousland, the things I said—”

“—were true,” Niamh finished ruefully. “Although I’ve tried my best to let others see otherwise, I understand why people fear me. Right now, however, that’s precisely what we need. A monster capable of our world’s destruction beckons us at our gates, so…” She idly flexed her hand, conjuring lightning which interweaved itself between her fingers. “…better to let another monster of equal caliber face it.”

“Niamh—”

“Commander!” she snapped, stopping his words cold. She didn’t want to hear her name fall from his lips, and she didn’t want him to dissuade her. “With as much borrowed time as we have, you’ve still a duty to the people under our protection. Find Roderick’s path. Get them out. Survive.”

“This is suicide!”

And it was.

She didn’t deny it.

Niamh knew Future Redcliffe had only occurred because she’d been lost to time, and the Inquisition had been woefully unprepared against the threat of this Elder One. With her reports of the incident, however—and what hints they had as to what had occurred in that timeline following her loss—Niamh only hoped it would be enough for her War Council to continue the fight in her stead and succeed where their future counterparts hadn’t. 

There was no guarantee she would return from this battle, not when it was clear she was the main target. She could use it to her advantage however. Niamh just needed to buy them time. _And if all else fails… I suppose I get to see the rest of my family again._ The thought, however, didn’t bring her as much comfort as she had expected, but as she eyed the man standing morosely at her side—his expression one of pain and ever-present guilt—she realized it would have to be enough.

“Commander, please,” she implored. “Continue to protect them.”

As Cullen reluctantly retreated from her—a promise on his lips—Niamh hated how badly she wanted to be selfish. She wanted to stay with Leliana if only to make sure she made it through. There was so much she needed to say—so much she needed to do.

But she couldn’t.

They had no other options left.

The Leliana in Future Redcliffe had nearly been broken beyond all repair by the torment inflicted upon her. It had been little more than sheer hatred holding her together, but she had seen the blame in her eyes the moment they reunited. For a moment, she had found fault in Niamh for her abandonment—unintentional though it was—leaving them with a world too far gone to be saved.

She couldn’t do that to Leliana again.

Niamh would give all she had to let them see another day to regroup and rebuild the Inquisition to something far greater than what could be obtained from a reluctant figurehead of faith. Martyrdom had never been something she readily sought out, but of everything that had accompanied her sister’s legacy, Niamh had hoped this would have been something she never would have followed Saoirse in.

_But if it can save them all, then so be it…_

* * *

The blast of fire from the Archdemon had sent her tumbling across the ground, and her staff flung itself out of reach of her. Niamh shook her head sharply to rid herself of the sudden disorientation, but when she saw the figures of her companions scrambling back toward her in a bid to help, she had enough mind to place an ice wall that spread from one side of the field to the other. She could just barely see their silhouettes through the nearly opaque surface, but to her dismay, they were reluctant to leave her. Blackwall was determinedly using his sword and shield to try and pick away at her barricade while Dorian summoned a flash of flame to try to melt the wall before them.

“Just go!” she ordered. 

“Neevy, this is _shite_ —” Sera emphasized her words with several furious whacks of her bow against the ice. “—and you know it!”

“I need you all to live and fight another day! I won’t be able to use my magic to my fullest potential if I fear I might hurt you all in the process!”

Of her current party, Dorian and Sera were the only ones who had been witness to the terrible might of her powers—testament to the consequences of provoking her too far. Niamh was more than capable of devastating all within her path, and while she had always been reluctant in displaying her magic in such a way, she couldn’t deny it was needed here. For them—for everyone who had dedicated themselves to serving the Inquisition’s cause—she had to. With relief, she saw her companions begin to back away—albeit grudgingly so.

“Don’t you dare die on us, Cousland,” she heard Dorian call out, but she said nothing in return. She couldn’t afford to make promises she couldn’t keep. It seemed cruel to offer them such a false hope. 

Then the world shook as the dragon landed within close proximity of her, maw opening with a putrid roar. Its eyes were aglow with the lyrium corrupting its veins as it stalked forward, and she had no choice but to put some distance between them as she backed up hesitantly. She found the gnawing, twisted magical presence behind her more distasteful, however, and she gritted her teeth against the sudden nausea she felt. _Is he truly powerful as he claims, or am I simply reacting to the utter abnormality of his magic?_

“You stand in awe before a god." 

“‘In awe?’” she repeated with a scoff, lip curling in disdain. “No, I’m afraid it’s more that I couldn’t decide who was the more hideous beast between you two." 

The archdemon took exception to the insult, and it reared its head back before shooting burst a wave of fire. Niamh sent forth a stream of her own from two fingertips with enough force that it parted the flames until they simply diverted themselves to either side of her, scorching the ground but leaving her ultimately unharmed. Still, she had to be careful; she no longer had a staff to fall back upon as a catalyst. _If I expend too much magic here…_ She let the thought trail off as the dragon growled—smoke still falling from its muzzle—as it paced away from her with baleful eyes. 

“How intriguing,” the Elder One mused, “even with all the energy you put into sealing the Breach—what I had intended to assault the very heavens themselves—you still have more to give. No matter. Know me. Know what you have pretended to be. Exalt the Elder One—the one who is Corypheus.” 

“You’re a fool to think your pet can put an inkling of fear into me. I’ve faced an Archdemon before.” 

“And yet you are not a Grey Warden,” he said, confident in such knowledge, which led her to frown. Only darkspawn were able to sense Wardens and vice versa. While his appearance was unsightly, did he actually have any relation to the enemies that she and her sister had fought before in the Deep Roads? An intelligent darkspawn creature? “Even were you to cause this Archdemon considerable harm, you would not be able to slay it. Your efforts would be futile. Now bend the knee." 

The blood of the Couslands and the Mac Eanraigs flowing through her protested the very idea, and her lips lifted into a sneer. “You’re going to be sorely disappointed if you believe I have any intention of doing so.” 

“You will resist,” he stated in simple observation of her. “You will _always_ resist, but realize your bravery won’t save you against the likes of me, foolish creature. Your kind will either bend the knee to me or simply fall beneath my might. One way or another, I will have my due.” He raised an orb within his hand that began to emanate an eerie, red glow, and she felt her Mark instinctively react to it. She steeled her expression even as the sensation of a fire being lit against her palm only grew more pronounced. “I am here for the Anchor, and the process of removal begins now.” 

Corypheus only had to wave a hand before the burning sensation increased to the point where she saw white flash across her vision from the pain. She hissed sharply as she staggered in place, pressing a hand to the inside of her elbow in an attempt to stave off the path of agony the Mark—no, the Anchor—was trying to navigate. The metallic tang suddenly coating her tongue alerted her to the fact that she had bitten her lip too hard, but Niamh wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of hearing her scream. 

“It is _your_ fault, Herald. You interrupted a ritual years in the planning, and instead of dying, you stole its purpose…” He sneered as the magic within his own hand grew, and a rush of breath left her through gritted teeth as the heat along her palm began to swell further out. As it flared an otherworldly red—nearly overtaking the viridian light that had been present before—Niamh had to lock her knees to keep from keeling over with the pain that raced white-hot along her spine. 

“You killed the Divine for this, and it led to the destruction of everyone within the Conclave! You caused so immense a rift between the mages and Templars that the world almost suffered dearly for it! Why?!” she demanded. “What was the point of all this chaos?!” 

“Chaos will empower me and ensure we no longer beg at the feet of the invisible,” he revealed before stalking forward to take her forearm, and Niamh was helpless to stop him as she dangled above the ground within his torturous grip. Her magic was already overtaxing itself from keeping Corypheus' corruptible power at bay. Faced with that knowledge, she had nothing to give in terms of offense. “I once breached the Fade in the name of another to serve the Old Gods of the Empire in person. I found only chaos and corruption—dead whispers,” he hissed. “For a thousand years I was confused. No more. I have gathered the will to return under no name but my own to champion withered Tevinter and correct this blighted world. Beg that I succeed, for I have seen the throne of the Gods, and it was empty!” 

Niamh frowned upon hearing such a revelation. _Tevinter? Could he be one of the original magisters who sundered the Veil open in order to reach the seat of the Maker?_ From the age and design of the tattered robes, this Corypheus certainly appeared to be ancient. If his claims of living for over a millennium spoke true, it was entirely possible, but despite his longevity, he was still a man grasping for divinity. He cared not for the lives of those that would be upended in his pursuit, and she couldn’t abide such greed. _And what do we say before a false god?_ she mused to herself, glaring into the amber eyes across from her with a humorless smile. “Not today.” 

For her insolence, Corypheus saw fit to flung her toward the frame of the trebuchet with enough force that she almost felt the wood against her back give. She couldn’t stop the cry of pain that escaped her then, but she had enough sense to shift back into a fighting stance. Quickly, she grabbed a sword that had fallen from one of the Red Templars she had killed earlier, brandishing it against her foe as he strode forward, his fury evident. 

“The Anchor is permanent. You have spoiled it with your stumbling,” he ground out between clenched teeth, displeased. “So be it… I will begin again and find another way to give this world a nation and god it requires.” 

Her breathing was labored—escaping her mouth in visible plumes amidst the cold—as her body and magic struggled to repair itself against all the harm inflicted upon her. Strategically, she was already in a considerably weakened position now, and as her mind frantically sought for any possible solution out of her current dilemma, she saw something in the distance beyond Corypheus and his dreaded Archdemon. 

An arrow lit in flame, lighting the inky darkness of the world around it as it ascended—a phoenix fire of hope. With it, she released a small breath of laughter—one filled with relief—at what it symbolized, and the sound had her opponent frowning deeply. 

“Herald,” he continued on, undeterred. “I will not suffer even an unknowing rival. You _must_ die.” 

“A word of advice if you do intend to take this world for your own?” she drawled out quietly, straightening her back against the trebuchet to find some strength in what reserves her body had left. “Don't monologue for so long that your opponent can think their way out of a situation. That—” The corners of her lips raised themselves up into a weary smirk. “—and you would do well to never mistake my patience for weakness.” 

With the lash of an arm, Niamh shot a burst of fire at the chains holding the counterweight of the trebuchet together, and as the metal links melted beneath the heat, the load of the boulder it had held in place was then sent rocketing forward into the nearby mountainside. As Corypheus’ head turned in the direction of the projectile, she tossed her borrowed sword into the air, and as it descended back down into her open palm, she switched her grip on the hilt to hold it like a spear. The metal of the blade super-heated itself into an angry red at her bidding, and—with force magic to guide the way forward—she threw it toward her opponent with such speed and precision that he was only barely able to bat it away. 

For his startled preoccupation, however, Niamh was already on the move, making her escape as the avalanche was nearly upon them. She felt the rushing cold at her heels, and with a final effort borne of sheer stubbornness, she launched herself forward with a Fade Step, using the momentum to carry herself through what appeared to be a mine shaft. With it, however, she had no way to correct her movement as she descended rapidly, and she felt her mistake grievously as multiple points of pain flashed across her mind one after the other. 

By the time she hit solid ground again, she was already unconscious. 

* * *

“Charter! Is this everyone?” Leliana called just as the last of the stragglers made it past the treeline beyond her. 

“Yes, the chantry’s been completely evacuated, Sister Leliana.” 

“Good.” 

Leliana took a moment to remove one of her gloves—setting it alongside her belt—before reaching into the quiver behind her to pull out one of her newest arrows. She ran her thumb across a red rune as she nocked it into place on her bow, and the arrowhead set itself aflame a moment later. Aiming high, she waited until strong gusts of wind around them shifted before readjusted her trajectory briefly to the right and releasing the arrow. 

“What are you doing?” Charter asked, watching as it soared high into night sky. 

“Making sure she knows we made it out safely.” 

Several long moments passed before the arrow finally descended in the distance. Worriedly, however, she wondered if Niamh even had a chance to see it amidst the cacophony of the avalanche. It roared even from so far away, and for a moment, doubt filled her. 

A woman was once again giving her life for the greater good. 

It was a noble deed—a page out of tales she had heard and retold a thousand times before—and yet… Leliana wanted to believe the outcome here could be different. 

_Please be safe._ She settled her bow against her back as she gestured for Charter to follow along if they were to catch up with the remainder of the fleeing refugees. 

They wandered the uncharted mountain pass for hours before deeming themselves far enough away from any dangers to begin camping out for the night. It was another several hours later that the group Niamh had been seen with last finally arrived at their location, but to Leliana’s dismay, the other woman wasn’t among them. 

* * *

Niamh awoke in pain as snow fell upon her cheeks in gentle drifts from above—a winter’s kiss welcoming her back from the Fade of sleep. Vaguely, with half-open eyes, she could see the opening of the broken mine shaft overhead, announcing that night had fallen, but she had no real indication as to how long she had lain there. Had another evening come to pass? Was this still the same day as when she’d last been conscious? 

Gingerly, she shifted onto her side before summoning enough strength to raise herself to her feet. The sudden sense of vertigo she felt upon standing upright, however, nearly led her to collapse back to the floor again, but she forced herself to press forward into the darkness of the mine caverns beyond her. 

There was a moment where she thought she’d be overrun by the Fear Demons that stood between her and the exit, but by no real effort of her own, the Anchor had flared in response to her desperate need to escape. In awe, she watched as the power of it sundered the Veil open and pulled her would-be enemies screeching into the rift before closing itself moments later. It was only the disturbed snow and ice around her that marked that anything had happened at all. 

_Useful trick,_ she admitted to herself, given that her mana reserves weren’t replenishing themselves beyond a mere trickle now. 

The healing spell she had used not long after regaining consciousness was enough that she could walk relatively unimpeded, and the agony she felt along her upper torso dulled to a slightly more manageable throb at best. Niamh was certain she had sustained more than a few cracked ribs in the fall, but there was nothing else to be done. 

Her mentor Wynne had always been far better-skilled at the healing arts; knitting together broken bones and even perforated organs had been a minor inconvenience to the older woman at best. Even Morrigan had proven more proficient at the craft than Niamh, who had been admittedly average with the other houses of magic at best outside the elemental ones. 

_I suppose I can try to use that to my advantage now,_ she thought as she left the mine only to be met with blistering chill of the night air. 

Niamh used enough fire magic to keep herself warm as she trekked through the thick snow. The wind, she had realized, came in ebbs and flows, and rather than keep a constant barrier up—she only had so much mana left in her injured state after all—she only conjured up a temporary shield whenever she felt the breeze shift and tried to batter her into the ground. 

It was admittedly a slow process, and as she traveled through the pass, she came across evidence of a few camps that seemed to have been quickly abandoned—no doubt an attempt from the fleeing refugees to keep as much distance between themselves and Haven as possible. 

Amidst the quiet, Niamh saw mounds piled in various locations, disturbing an otherwise even layer of snow. _Bodies,_ she realized grimly upon inspecting one. They were likely individuals who had been too injured to continue and had been left where they fell—an admittedly cruel fact but one needed to ensure the overall group’s survival. 

Wolves howled in the distance then, reminding her not to linger too long. While she wasn’t bleeding terribly, Niamh was surprised she hadn’t been attacked by the animals long before then, but as she thought of the half-buried dead around her, she supposed there were easier meals to be had. 

As she trudged forward through the nearly knee-deep snow, she caught the glimmer of something out of the corner of her eye beneath the moonlight. She padded toward it, wondering if it was perhaps a weapon she could use to defend herself if the wolves proved too impatient for a warmer target. When her fingers brushed over the surface of the object, however, she smiled in relief. 

In the snow, there laid a familiar arrow with red runes embedded into the shaft. 

She was going in the right direction. 

_Now to just catch up with them before the weather takes a turn for the worst…_

* * *

“My apologies!” Harding announced as she ran up to the table that Leliana and the remainder of the War Council had appropriated for their own purposes. “The watch scouted movement along the perimeter!” 

“More wolves?” Cullen asked, sounding fatigued at the very thought, but Harding merely shook her head as she fought to catch a breath. 

“No. A person,” she clarified before widening her eyes. “They think it’s the Herald.” 

Silence lingered between them all for a long moment before she, Cassandra, and Cullen were rushing out toward the edge of the camp, but she had outpaced them all before long as she ran out into the snow. Unfortunately, the light from the torches they'd stationed around the perimeter could only stretch so far into the night beyond them, and as Leliana rounded the corner of two large boulders which marked the path into the encampment, she slowed carefully. 

It wouldn't do to injure herself in the search after all.

Had her eyes not been expecting it, however, she likely would have lost sight of the black-clad figure stumbling toward her amidst the darkness. As it was, Leliana was just barely able to wrap her arms around Niamh as the woman collapsed to her knees. 

“Oh,” the other woman crooned with weary delight. “You’re a sight for sore eyes. I owe you my thanks for the signal.” 

Leliana’s brows drew together in confusion at the remark until she spotted the enchanted arrow in Niamh’s hand. She shook her head, exasperation filling her. “You didn’t have to return that to me.” 

“On the contrary,” she murmured, eyes lidding themselves halfway. “You would have been left with an uneven set, and it would have disturbed the artist within me to no end.” 

As she spoke, Leliana’s eyes roved the other woman’s form anxiously. Maker, even with the heavy leather coat she wore, Niamh was absolutely freezing beneath her hands, and it was evident in how she shook against her constantly. Leliana knew the mage was able to combat most elements, but after such an ordeal, even Niamh would have found difficulty in keeping up such an attempt. She had likely exhausted her mana just in trying to reach them. 

“Sorry,” Niamh sighed. “Didn’t mean to worry you. Just let me…” Her words trailed off with a whisper, and Leliana watched in alarm as grey eyes simply rolled back into their sockets before Niamh slumped forward against her, succumbing to exhaustion at last. 

“Leliana!” Cassandra had finally caught up to her as had Cullen. Worry was clear in her gaze as she stared at both her and Niamh, and then she held out her hands. “Here, let me—" 

“I have her.” 

“But I can carry her.” 

Leliana rolled her eyes. She hadn’t trained with a sword as her colleagues had, but there was a resilience borne in the fine art of archery as well. It was a methodical rhythm—a precise dance—that focused heavily upon a bow’s taut string. The length of the pull determined both force and distance, but the repetitive nature of that simple motion would have led to an assurance of steady strength as well, and Leliana had been an expert on the weapon for over half her life. As such, she was able to arrange her arms beneath Niamh’s legs and back before simply standing in one fluid movement, cradling the other woman close to her while raising a pointed brow at Cassandra. 

“So can I,” she deadpanned before turning to one of her senior agents, who had followed them out into the cold and had been mindful enough to bring a torch to help light their way back. “Charter, see if we’ve any suitable tents left; if not, rearrange one for privacy. We can’t risk keeping the Herald under an open canopy when she’s this cold.” 

Leliana looked down at the woman in question, and grimaced when she saw the faint tinge of blue lingering on her lips. It was imperative they kept Niamh out of the elements as much as possible and warm her up slowly. To rush the process and attempt to flood the cold out of her body would likely prove too much for the mage’s heart, especially as weak as she was now. She couldn’t allow that to be a possibility. 

“Find any available mage healer we have and then see if Lady Vivienne would be willing to part with one of her Knight-Enchanter associates to help keep guard,” Leliana added before her eyes narrowed. “We are not going to risk that anyone might be able to harm the Herald while she’s this vulnerable.” 

“Aye, Sister!” Charter nodded. “At once!” 

* * *

As expected of her senior agent, Leliana found an enclosed tent waiting for her by the time she found herself back in the encampment again. She ignored the murmurs around her as she carried the unconscious woman inside and placed her gently atop the available cot. Then, to her immense reluctance, she found herself led back out of the tent as the healers began to rotate themselves over the next several hours to tend to the wounded woman's injuries. 

Dorian had not been far behind them, anxiously looking to offer aid to Niamh as well, and as one of the mages’ mana began to deplete, he relieved her with gratitude before disappearing into the tent. Although there had been some initial misgivings by some of her companions regarding Dorian, Niamh had kept him as part of her inner circle. Leliana had offered no counsel of her own regarding the matter, remembering a rogue from an also distant land who had long proven his worth before the Battle of Denerim. Perhaps this was much the same. 

That, and as quiet and introspective as Niamh was, Leliana had always known her to be an excellent judge of character. She was not one to give her friendship easily. If she believed Dorian’s intentions were good, then Leliana had seen no reason to argue against that. 

Vivienne, however, went into the tent not long after seeing Dorian enter. While largely left unsaid, it was clear she didn’t trust the Tevinter mage with the safety of their Herald. There had been notable tension in the air when Leliana had went in later to check on Niamh’s progress, but both had been steadfast in their focus of tending to the injured woman beneath their hands. 

Unsurprisingly, Niamh had a multitude of injuries—broken bones among them—that either had been sustained against her fight against the Elder One or during her long journey to their current encampment. As she'd been later told, it had taken some time for them to properly knit the pieces back together where they wouldn't cause Niamh further harm. It was a task that consumed much of their mana, so more superficial wounds such as various abrasions and bruises had been largely left alone. As a result of her lingering aches, they anticipated that the Herald would likely still be bedridden once she woke up. Niamh, however, had remained unconscious for several days following the treatment, but every few hours, Vivienne or Dorian—for they had established a schedule by then—would come to check on Niamh and tend to her as needed. 

As for Leliana, she had visited Niamh often enough that she had found another cot along with a small desk and chair waiting for her in the tent on the second day—courtesy of Josie who had only raised her brow pointedly as if daring her to argue before proceeding to tend to the refugees around her. 

Unfortunately, they were now quickly approaching day four, and the morale around the camp was slowly beginning to wane again as they wondered if the Herald would ever wake up. She dismissed their concerns. They didn’t know Niamh as well as she did after all—how stubborn the woman could prove when pressed. 

“You were never one to give up, were you?” she asked quietly as she sat near her. “Even if the odds were stacked well against your favor? We need that type of determination, Niamh. We need that more than ever now.” 

Leliana never expected a response, knowing the other woman was using whatever energy her body had left to heal. As had been routine for her, Leliana often went back to reading her various reports in between looking up at Niamh on occasion, checking her condition. This time, however, she frowned when she caught a few strained words just at the edge of her hearing. 

“…ast time. Please…” 

The messages in her hands forgotten, Leliana leaned forward in an effort to better hear the other woman amidst the labored breathing. “Niamh?” she called anxiously. 

“Sing for me please?” she whispered at last. “Just one last time?” 

Leliana couldn’t stop her sudden intake of breath at the words—dread settling within her stomach—fearing that this was perhaps the sign Niamh was beyond their saving. 

* * *

_Those final moments before Roderick had revealed to them a path to salvation had been unsettling to say the least. The enemy they faced was exceedingly powerful—almost impossibly so—and Leliana had been half-convinced that they would die slowly beneath the weight of Haven’s unforgiving snow._

_“Is this punishment?” a young Chantry woman had asked, shaking in her heraldry as she sat on the ground, knees pressed up against her chest._

_“What?”_

_“For what we did to the Herald before she tried to seal the Breach the first time? W-we—” She wetted trembling lips as she looked up at her. “We had thrown stones at her. She never once fought back against us, but the Maker and Andraste… They know our sins!”_

_It was an absurd thought, Leliana knew. Madness brought about by a situation they could all scarcely comprehend. After all, hadn’t the Maker and His Bride long stopped looking upon their children?_

_Then a path out of the chantry had been found, and Leliana had been saved from having to give an answer._

_Even as they escaped into the quickly-growing night, however, some had turned to look back at the figure of their Herald in the distance, facing off against two creatures of unimaginable being._

_Niamh hadn’t run away._

_She hadn’t shirked her duties._

_Instead, she had stood tall against her foe, unwilling to bend the knee._

_And for a moment, amidst the reverent whispers around her as she viewed the image of Niamh standing against flame and smoke—head held high even in the face of such an unforgiving enemy—Leliana had felt something inside her give. The ever-present winter within her soul had been there ever since Saoirse’s death, and the chill of it had continued on with the passing of The Divine. It was a constant companion to her, coming to her as easily as drawing breath; yet, instead of adding another layer of ice across her heart, she felt it thaw into something light and effervescent._

_Just enough for her to want to believe again—believe that there could possibly be a different fate for their fated heroine. It was admittedly an uncomfortable reminder of her past, for she had long doubted the Maker’s kindness in anything. Leliana had been too spurned by Him to believe He could even consider turning His eyes away from taking yet another companion from her._

_But she believed in Niamh, and as she led the last of the refugees out, she prayed such faith would be enough._

* * *

At Niamh’s request, she was once again reminded of when the woman had last asked her for such a thing. Although songs rarely came easily to her anymore, she reasoned that she could search within the depths of herself to find one. If it meant that it would keep Niamh there with them—if it was incentive enough for the other woman to continue fighting—Leliana at least had to try. 

“Why do you insist on asking me these things when you won’t remember them later?” Leliana asked quietly, an exhausted amusement overtaking her before brushing a few disheveled strands away from Niamh’s face. “I will sing for you, but you have to promise you will make every effort to return to us here. Do you understand?” 

The woman’s eyes had remained closed, and Leliana wondered if Niamh had been conscious at all, or if she was simply speaking to her from beyond the Fade. Slowly, however, the dark head laying against the cot inclined itself minutely, and Leliana took it to be as much of an answer as she could possibly expect. 

“Very well. Just don’t stray too far to where we can’t follow,” she whispered before [her lips parted once more to sing. ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_yQpU_73Dv0)

Dimly, she could hear the faint crunch of snow outside the tent—a Knight-Enchanter who had been dutifully standing guard—and from the corner of her eye, she could see a silhouette turning their head briefly turning in her direction with surprise. Leliana continued on uninterrupted, however, for it didn't matter to her if others were present for such a rare moment.

It only mattered that Niamh could hear her.

_If this will lead you back to us from the Fade, then I can endure a small audience._

Perhaps it was her own exhaustion over the last few days, but Leliana could have sworn that those tense features had relaxed more visibly just before she reached the first refrain. As Niamh’s breathing had slowed to a more peaceful rhythm, she was pleased to see the other woman was no longer moving as fretfully beneath the blankets either. She hoped it was an indication that the fevered dreams that had stalked the Niamh for days on end had finally relented, releasing hold of her at last. If so, it was sign of progress, and for that, Leliana was grateful. 

_Come back to us soon, Niamh._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm honestly pleased I got this out in under two weeks (although I'm probably going to have to come back and re-edit whatever I didn't see in the first round of editing like I always do...)!
> 
> Hello to all my new readers by the way! Yes, even all you lurkers out there! I still love you! I've a feeling that some of you came here after that adrenaline rush of a DA4 trailer we got the other week, so welcome! Glad to have you here! Hope you all enjoyed the chapter!
> 
> For those of you who don't already follow me on Tumblr, I recently put up [another AU on my blog.](https://morganaseren.tumblr.com/post/628581746221481984) The concept for it is more werewolf/vampire themed, featuring our lovely lead ladies here. Again, like with the Arranged Marriage AU, please do give me your thoughts on it. Is it the type of content you would like to see from me at some point in the future when I'm done writing Niamh and Leliana in this timeline? Is it too overdone a concept? Is there something I could do to make it more interesting? Let me know!
> 
> Oh, and I recently commissioned this [lovely painting of Niamh and Leliana! ](https://morganaseren.tumblr.com/post/628156540501803008) If you have a Tumblr of your own, please do reblog it when you can and give the artist the exposure they need. They're amazing! 
> 
> And I promise: no matter the length of this slow burn romance and the amount of angst I put on the two queens of my heart, they _will_ have a happy ending!
> 
> As always, please feel free to leave a comment or a kudos below! If you've already left the latter, then even just a small message to tell me you're still interested in this story is more than enough for me! Until next time, guys!


	15. The Questions I Have for a Sinner Like Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was by inaction that Niamh lost Leliana to her sister, and it is a fact that fate never ceases to remind her of.
> 
> Upon awakening from her latest ordeal, Niamh deals with yet more problems as she struggles with her own recovery and the idea of her place among so many people of the faith.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I heard y'all wanted more Leliana/Niamh content.

_“Thanks for helping me keep watch tonight.”_

_Niamh nodded kindly in answer to her sister while also tending to the fire before them. Winter was settling in quickly across the region, and it would do them well to keep the flames well-stoked for their vigil. The night ahead would prove a cold one if the chill she sensed upon the wind earlier was any indication._

_Alistair had already been forced to bed early thanks to a cold that racked his body for days with wheezing coughs and a stolen voice. His lethargy had sunken so deep into his bones that he nearly collapsed on the road that afternoon following an ambush by trained mercenaries. After managing to dispatch their foes, Saoirse had then outright scolded him for his stubbornness when it became clear he had been trying to hide the severity of his condition. As such, it had been decided they would camp and recuperate for the next few days before meeting with the elves in the Brecilian Forest regarding an alliance._

_Alistair had originally protested against the order. Niamh reasoned he had wanted to prove himself to Saoirse, but he needn’t have bothered. Her sister always thought endlessly well of everyone within their ragtag group of companions, and when it came to their individual well-being, she took the matter quite seriously._

“A hand that rules in fear will only breed resentment,” _their father had once said._ “While the foes we face may not always appreciate such sentiment, understand that a hand offered in friendship is not a weakness of the heart. A castle is only as strong as the connections forged in its creation.”

_Although Alistair had been apologetic for their delay in travel due to his condition, he seemed remarkably grateful for the reprieve. He disappeared into his tent not long after supper to rest, practically collapsing into it._

_The corner of her lips quirked up in amusement upon hearing a rattling snore in the distance. Lorcan—her sibling’s absolute beast of a mabari—had raised his head and pricked his ears briefly in curiosity at the noise, but he soon went back to chewing at his prize of a thigh bone from some wild game they had caught earlier._

_“I suspect you had another reason for requesting my presence tonight,” she said, using a bit of force magic on one of the logs within the fire, adjusting the length of it as it cracked in half beneath the heat, distributing the flames more evenly._

_Although they all rotated regularly on who kept watch in the evenings, Niamh had long noticed her sister had a preference for Leliana’s company when they were paired together. Not that she could blame her. The bard and her collection of songs and stories often made the night pass by much more quickly._

_Saoirse chuckled as she sat beside her. “Ah, Little Niamh, I swear, one might actually be able to see the wheels turning within that head of yours with how often you analyze everything.” She smiled so as to show her words were meant in light jest. “Thankfully, I’ve a need for that mind of yours tonight. Tell me, what do you think of Leliana?”_

_“Does your current line of questioning have to do with the ambush earlier in the forest? It was hardly Leliana’s fault that someone from her past tried to have her harmed, Saoirse.” A brief flare of irritation filled her as she frowned at her sister. “Do you somehow suspect her sincerity?”_

_“Of course not,” the warrior protested with a scoff. “You and I both knew from the beginning there was more to her than meets the eye. No one’s that talented with both blade and bow by chance. While we may not know the actual details of her past, I would like to think that her willingness to use her skills to help a cause like ours—as impossible as it might seem—speaks well of her.”_

_Niamh was inclined to agree. Leliana demonstrated a great deal of mercy toward their foes, much to the annoyance of their more pragmatic companions. Niamh had originally assumed such compassion had been due to her faith despite the fact that Leliana was exceedingly masterful with her weapons of choice, especially the bow._

_Truly, Leliana easily outclassed every archer they had ever come across, for on the battlefield, she never allowed herself to be a stationary target—a tactic that most archers preferred. There was nothing less than utter beauty in the precision of the woman’s shots even while on the move, and she didn’t even always keep herself at a distance with her bow either. Niamh had seen the woman shoot an arrow right between an Ogre’s eyes just as she slid between the bulk of his legs before moving forward to shoot down two Shrieks without so much as missing a beat._

_To her continual astonishment, she had discovered the other woman was also ambidextrous. Even earlier in the ambush, Niamh had seen her shoot from behind the cover of a tree with one hand while switching effortlessly to the other as she moved around the enormous trunk to expertly pin another target beneath another arrow._

“Simple necessity,” _Leliana had told her with gentle amusement when she had first asked her of her skill._ “When I first started training with daggers, I wanted to be more balanced with both hands. After a time, I adapted the same principle with my bow techniques, which I like to think has served me well over the years.”

_“And I… Well.”_

_Niamh was drawn out of her thoughts as her sister spoke again. She looked over and was surprised to see her looking remarkably sheepish as she rubbed the back of her neck. In the flickering light, she could also see the tinge of red on her cheeks that had nothing to do with warmth of the fire._

_“I think she’s wonderful,” Saoirse finished, grinning at the admission. “And it has more to do than just her beauty. A woman so fine as her deserves to be recognized for more than such a single platitude. Oh, Niamh, the way she moves… The way she speaks!” She sighed then, the sound one of absolute bliss and contentment. “She thrills me in ways I can’t even begin to describe.”_

_Her sister spoke with such tenderness regarding Leliana that it stilled her heart, but the feeling was not one of happiness._

_It was dread._

_Dread upon realizing where this conversation was headed._

_She had stumbled upon a conversation weeks ago, where Wynne had quietly been chiding Saoirse over her close relationship with Leliana. The older woman had advised how it would have been in both their best interests not to pursue such a thing further. Death could darken upon their path at any given time after all, and she feared what consequence it would bring upon their party if either woman had succumbed to such a fate before the end of their long quest._

_Now, however, it seemed Saoirse was determined to not allow whatever time remained pass her by._

_Then, as she continued speaking of Leliana, her words poured out with such gentle fondness that Niamh slipped her hands beneath her cloak to hide how they clenched and shook with the emotion suddenly overtaking her. She kept her gaze on flames before her even as her heart pounded so incessantly in her ears that she wondered how her sister couldn’t hear the suddenly deafening beat._

_Her sister was genuinely in love._

_In love with the same woman that Niamh also desired._

_If she had ever believed in the Maker, she suddenly felt like screaming obscenities at Him. Did He find her life to be little more than a game of passing fancy—one where He could topple the pieces of it at His bidding? Was this her punishment for forsaking Him? She had never asked the Maker for anything—save for perhaps a single moment of happiness amidst a routine lost to utter monotony as she languished away in a Tower._

_Just a single moment for her to cherish before she feared she’d be forgotten by the world around her. Had that truly been so much to ask? Perhaps it had, for why else would He try to take away the one person she had ever truly wanted for herself?_

_“I see.” Niamh painstakingly forced herself to utter calmness so that her voice wouldn’t break, and as she turned to Saoirse, she could only hope the look in her eyes was sincere as she smiled. “Yes, she’s perfect for you,” she said to her sister, who had no inkling to her sudden internal conflict even as her heart quietly shattered._

_Of course, of course._

_How could the Maker possibly favor her when Saoirse was every bit the figure of a heroine? She was a true warrior with a kind soul and penchant for bravery, but Niamh?_

_She… She was just a mage—a figure to hated and reviled by the world at large._

_Even had Leliana accepted the notion of a relationship with her, it wouldn’t have had the same freedoms as any other couple. It likely would have been one filled with fleeting moments at best. Should they even succeed in their quest, Niamh had no doubt she’d be chained to the Circle again once everything was said and done, and Knight-Commander Gregoir hardly ever allowed outside visitors._

_Their love would have been reduced to mere letters between them, and Leliana was worth so much more than that. She deserved the type of love that she often talked about in her tales—the ones that filled her voice with such awe and reverence._

_Niamh couldn’t possibly offer that. She was a mage with nothing to her name. How could she ever have been a worthy suitor in Leliana’s eyes?_

_“I wouldn’t even know how to bring this up to her,” Saoirse admitted reluctantly as she stared toward Leliana’s tent with quiet longing, and Niamh couldn’t help but sigh. Irritation welled within her._

_“You’ve talked with her enough these past few months. Surely you haven’t been so self-absorbed in our quest that you’ve somehow learned nothing about her…” She found herself jostled lightly as her sister snorted out a laugh and pushed at her arm for the comment._

_“Of course not! But I… I want this to be special. I know our lives are constantly filled with danger, but I want her to know of my utter sincerity regarding this.”_

_“Hm…” She supposed she couldn’t fault Saoirse for her thinking, and Niamh couldn’t help but want to assuage her sister's worries despite how own mind raged at the thought. She forcibly quelled it to silence. “Sometimes the most exceptional of gifts can also be the simplest of things. Didn’t she mention there was a flower that she was fond of? One that grew here only in Ferelden?”_

_“Ah. Andraste’s Grace, you mean?” The warrior rubbed at her jaw distractedly for several moments—dark grey eyes turning skyward with her contemplation—before raising a brow at her in question. “The simplest of things, eh?”_

_“It wouldn’t hurt to try. At worse, she’ll simply turn down your affections, but I doubt she’d be so crass as to belittle you for sharing them.”_

_“Hm. Well, I suppose no one ever fell in love without being a little bit brave.” A large hand then reached out to tousle Niamh’s hair affectionately. “You’ve always a good head on your shoulders, Sister. I’m glad to have you with me.”_

_Niamh shared her smile even as a throbbing pain settled over her heart. “Likewise.”_

* * *

_The following morning, her sister had left to go find the flowers they had spoken of with Lorcan happily trotting along beside her. As the pair departed, Niamh looked longingly to where Leliana sat polishing her daggers, ensuring they would be ready for any obstacle that awaited them in the days ahead. Niamh made to rise from her place near the campfire._

_Surely it wouldn’t be a difficult thing to walk over to Leliana and just—_

_But no._

_She could never hurt Saoirse in such a way. Although Niamh had been born a mage, her sister had never found fault in her for it like the rest of Thedas had._

_She had loved and supported her always._

_Thus, Niamh could never be so underhanded as to steal Leliana away. It hadn’t been her sister’s fault that Niamh had been too nervous to express her feelings for Leliana first when she had the chance. Warrior that she was, Saoirse had taken her leap of faith, daring to balance both love and duty in a world that could fall to destruction at any given moment._

_She could support them, Niamh promised herself._

_It was better this way._

_But she couldn’t deny the way her heart tightened in pain when her sister returned to offer Leliana an Andraste’s Grace. Upon seeing the gift, she watched as the bard’s eyes lit up with such delight and genuine affection for Saoirse, who grinned bashfully beneath such warm attention._

_It was then that Niamh had to accept the notion that she had tried to convince herself of the night before:_

_Leliana would never be hers._

* * *

_Later, when Niamh had volunteered to go into the Fade to save Connor and his father, the choice itself was very much a gamble, but there had been no other viable option. A demon who could summon all manner of the undead to its bidding was far too powerful for just any mage to attempt the feat. That a Desire Demon was behind it all was much its own challenge, as they stood as one of the most powerful in the hierarchy of such inhuman creatures._

_As such, it would be test of absolute fortitude for anyone attempting such a task, and despite the experience of both her mentors Wynne and Irving, their combined power was best suited to sundering the Fade open for her with the other mages present while she traversed within it. Among her peers and superiors, it was agreed that Niamh had both the youthful spirit and magical aptitude to see the matter through._

_If she could avoid being tempted first._

_Unfortunately, there apparently hadn’t been enough salt in the wound of her broken heart. The Maker Himself laughed at the folly of her innermost desires, so was it any wonder that the demon of such sin could see through to her as well? It had met her immediately in the middle of the Fade, wearing the very form that had haunted her dreams for nights on end._

_Niamh could do nothing but stare in horror as Leliana—no, the demon—sauntered over to her with a smile of wicked sin.[The imposter wasted little time in leaning every curve of her body against her own while pressing lips so soft against her own that she trembled beneath them, her veins set aflame with the sudden desire coursing through her.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bNKbeV3wM84) She closed her eyes to block out the sight of creature who would dare impersonate the woman she loved, but that only made the matter far worse. Her other senses were now enhanced, and she understood that fact painfully when she felt lips gently nibbling at ear followed by soft, distinctive laughter._

_The demon then whispered endless temptation to her, offering the image before her—the woman she desired above all else—pleasure beyond her imagining, and power no mere mortal could ever hope to comprehend. All would be hers, it told Niamh, if she would but offer everything that she was in absolute fealty._

_“Truly?” she asked, voice shaking when the familiar scent of roses, incense, and wine reached her nose, and she opened her eyes at last, much to the demon’s delight. “You would give me anything?”_

_“If you would be mine, then yes. What need would I have with a boy who fumbles with the very idea of magic when I could have you? The world shall offer a more enticing lens when seen through your eyes, dear artist of mine. Of that, I’m certain. After all…” It trailed off, and then the image of Leliana was suddenly bare before her, and Niamh’s mouth immediately went dry at the sight. The demon offered a bewitching smile paired with a sensual, come-hither gaze. “Am I not your heart’s desire?”_

_Against her better judgment, Niamh’s fingers twitched at her side. Then, helplessly, she found herself tentatively reaching out toward the woman that was salvation and torment all in one._

_“Aw,” the demon cooed with mock-affection before it simply took her wrist and pulled her forward, guiding Niamh to cup a soft breast. Niamh gasped when she felt the gentle weight of it beneath her hand, and the visage of Leliana chuckled. “For such a powerful mage, you’re such a timid thing, aren’t you? You can touch me more. I won’t bite.” That blue gaze flashed to a cat-eyed lavender, amusement dancing across them. “Unless you desire such a thing, of course.”_

_Niamh swallowed, and although she knew the offer was likely a sincere one, she simply leaned forward to rest her head against a slim shoulder wearily. The hand she kept over the demon’s heart didn’t move, and she didn’t protest when slim fingers carded themselves through her hair with languid indulgence._

_“Sing for me please?” Niamh pleaded quietly. “Just one last time.”_

_“Was that all I needed to have you?” It asked with incredulous laughter. “My, my. Are you so starved for touch and attention, sweet morsel?” When Niamh nodded, shifting minutely to rest her chin on a pale shoulder, she could hear the smile in the demon’s voice. “Very well. I can be benevolent when need be.”_

_And Niamh found that the demon could sing as sweetly as Leliana. It was a balm against the sudden restlessness of her mind, and as she closed her eyes, the waves of her uncertainty calmed. Resolve settled within her just as sure as the steady pulse beneath her palm. It remained there even as fingertips beneath her chin directed her back far enough to where she could look up at Leliana._

_“Tell me you love me.”_

_Niamh found herself sinking into the depths of vivid blue eyes—the same ones that even her artistic hand struggled at replicating. As she did, she felt the smile pulling effortlessly on her lips, and she was pleased when the other woman returned it. Satisfaction gleamed within that gaze when Niamh offered her reply without question._

_“I love you.”_

_“Very good, ma chérie,” she purred, sinking her hand back into the dark waves of her hair. “Now tell me you're mine…”_

_“I am yours. Always.”_

_“Excellent. Now we can—AH!”_

_The sudden, gruesome scream was like a dagger upon her ears as it echoed across the Fade. Niamh watched then as blue eyes widened—that familiar visage contorting into an expression of absolute agony—before looking down at the spike of fire she had used to pierce the demon’s heart. It grew larger as the point expanded beneath the middle of her palm, and her foe winced with every incremental shift. The demon jerked its gaze back toward her, and pain, betrayal, and outrage flickered across a surface of wintery sapphire._

_“How?!” the demon demanded, and Niamh was mildly amazed to hear a mixture of its own voice along with Leliana’s shouting at her as its borrowed form seemed to slough away from it—burning leaves scattered on the winds. “You said—"_

_“My words were true.” Resignation filled her at the thought. “They just weren’t meant for you.”_

_“Impossible! I had you!”_

_“Hardly." She offered a bitter smile in consolation. "Your tricks were enchanting, yes, but when I heard you sing, I knew you could never truly replicate her. I could close my eyes and know that you were but a mere candlelight against the sun of her aura, for that which sets one’s blood aflame from the mere thought?" She laughed, brief incredulity welling within her. "I could scour every inch your world could have to offer and never find anything that would come remotely close to her. Thus, you’ve nothing with which to keep me here, do you?”_

_She willed the spear of fire to consume the flesh beneath her hand, heedless of the ghastly screams it elicited. It was well-deserved punishment for a being who had taunted Niamh with the image of her heart’s desire and subsequently thought she could be tricked into falling under its thrall so easily._

_She stayed long enough in the Fade to watch the demon’s body be turned into nothingness. As she did, she heard the cries of Connor and Arl Eamon disappear, and that seemed proof enough for Niamh that she had succeeded in her task. As she turned on her heel to return to the portal, however, she thought she could hear Cullen’s words ringing back to her, reminding her that mages were always susceptible to the whisperings of the demons. Whether it was a trick of one of the possible creatures nearby or simply just a memory that had no intention of leaving her be, Niamh had long resolved that for all her power, she would never allow it to be used against the ones she loved—unintentionally or otherwise._

_She wasn’t a demon’s puppet._

_She wasn’t a monster._

_Her power was her own, and she would seek only to help right the world with it._

_Niamh allowed that knowledge to lead her back home._

* * *

She awoke to the sound of turning pages along with the gentle hum of a low lullaby. Her eyelids felt heavy, and it was with great effort that she was able to even move them partially open. As it was, she was more than a little disorientated as she saw a brown tarp overhead when she had last seen a dark sky. Then, as the hummed song entered into another refrain, she looked out of the corner of her eye—it hurt too much to shift her head even the slightest bit—she saw that Leliana was sitting on a chair beside her, apparently reading through various messages. _Still a far sight better than any dream…_ she mused, a smile of tired fondness pulling at her lips.

“Were you just singing something to me a moment ago?” Niamh asked with a tongue that seemed too large in a mouth far too dry. The rasping sound of her voice made her wince—evidence of lack of use. How long had she lain abed this time around? Leliana’s head snapped up toward her immediately when she spoke, and Niamh mustered more of a smile for her when she saw the familiar glacial blue of that gaze. “Well?”

“No,” the other woman admitted although there was some measure of affection to be found in an expression that was usually so closed off to others. The relief flickering across it was more evident however. “I did sing to you last night however. You’re remembering more than last time. Good.”

Niamh blinked. _Last time?_ she thought in confusion, which only grew as Leliana rose from her seat and moved away.

“Let me get the healers to check in on you. They were pleased when your fever finally broke last night. They’ll want to know you’re finally awake.”

“But—” Niamh stopped the utterance as soon as it left her lips. 

While the memory of the Fade and the demon that had taken Leliana’s form was ever an unpleasant one—one that left her disquieted for days afterward—it wasn’t a burden to be pushed onto the other woman. She had already seen the pile of missives Leliana had gathered with her; surely, she had other matters that needed her immediate attention. 

A nightmare was the least of her Spymaster’s concerns.

Yet, Leliana paused at the entrance to the tent, that cowled head turning to look back at her. Whatever had been evident on her expression had Leliana’s own softening a fraction of a touch. 

“I won’t be too far. If you have need of me, you can have someone ask for my presence,” she reassured before moving aside the flap of the tarp to make her exit, “but we really need the healers to tend to you first.”

* * *

Despite Leliana’s words, she found that she didn’t even have the time to call upon her with the combination of healers and her inner circle coming into her tent for the next several hours. She dealt with the endless prodding of the former with as much patience she could muster in her tired state. Niamh knew they meant well with their attentions, but it wasn’t long before she felt more like a caged specimen as they spoke of her progress with one another like she wasn’t at all present there with them.

At least her companions had proven far better company. They stayed long enough to express their relief at her continued well-being and offered some light conversation, but they knew better than to overstay their welcome when she was still recovering.

…Not that Dorian and Sera hadn’t both given her quite the earful for the incident back in Haven.

“I swear, you have taken a decade off my life! A decade, Cousland!” the other mage exclaimed as he flustered over her injured form like a mother hen, tending to some bruising with little bursts of healing magic. “Never again! Do you hear?”

“Friggin’ right! Stop scaring me like that, Neevy!” Sera scolded in turn, and Niamh felt guilty at seeing the frustrated tears in her friend’s eyes. “I will chain myself to your leg if you _ever_ do something that stupid again!” The other woman jabbed an index finger toward her several times in emphasis although she was careful not to actually touch her, as if fearing she’d break her with even the slightest gesture. Soon, however, she was turning to Dorian with a frown. “Can I hug her now?”

Dorian nodded solemnly. “Just do it gently. We repaired all the breaks and fractures, but the muscles around her ribs are still healing.”

Sera winced upon hearing that, but not one to be easily deterred, she still leaned down to wrap an arm around her shoulders in a loose embrace. Niamh—for her part—could only muster the strength to lift her forearm enough to pat her friend’s back gratefully for the gesture. It seemed to bring more of a smile to Sera’s face when she finally pulled back, and she was thankful to see it. 

Vivienne had been one of the last of her inner circle to see her, but she had likely been waiting for the lull in activity to die down first before making her appearance. Nevertheless, Niamh was pleased for her company even as the other woman fussed at her in her own graceful, understated way. She felt a cool tinge along her bandages, and Niamh released a slow breath of relief when she felt she could suddenly breathe more easily now that the fire around her ribs had subsided.

“Better, my dear?”

“Much.” She smiled, but it soon faded as concern filled her. “How have things been faring while I’ve been asleep? Is everyone alright?”

“Our situation is going as well as can be expected,” Vivienne revealed as she sat primly in the chair next to her cot, crossing one leg over the other at the knee. “The faithful prayed daily toward your continued recovery, and their morale has increased now that word has spread you’ve awakened. The scouts and soldiers continue to keep our perimeter safe from any of the local fauna, which have thankfully kept their distance. Regarding our mage allies…” The older woman trailed off somewhat as she arched an elegant brow at her. 

“I don’t think it need be said that I was wary of them being offered a full alliance, but your request to have my associates help oversee them has proven an invaluable one. They remain committed to the training we’ve provided, and even the youngest among their ranks grow with leaps and bounds. Still,” she sniffed briefly as she eyed the entrance of the tent, knowing the cold that waited beyond them, “few are suited to the weather of the Frostbacks, but I imagine we could have done far worse without the overabundance of allies with us. Snow proves ever plentiful here. As such, with a bit of magic, we won’t be left wanting for clean water. The apprentices have even taken it upon themselves to ensure the civilians within our care have a warm campfire available to them while the Enchanters have taken to fortifying our defenses with ice walls. It won’t stop another attack, of course, but for the purposes of keeping stray beasts out, it’s suitable enough. Thus, we are secure for the time being, thanks in large part to you bringing Fiona and her malcontents to your side.”

“Why, Lady Vivienne, you seem almost astonished by the idea. I don’t think my heart can take such an unexpected pleasure so soon,” Niamh quipped with humor, and she smiled when her words drew gentle laughter.

“My dear, when it comes to your varied accomplishments, I imagine you will never cease to astonish me.” Vivienne then reached out with a gloved hand to brush aside what Niamh was sure was a mess of a dark hair from her eyes. As the other woman then smiled, Niamh realized—almost unexpectedly—why she had always found herself searching for it at times. It was a gesture of maternal warmth—one she had been without for over a decade. Her heart lightened at the mere thought. “Circumstances aside, I am pleased to see you are faring well, but please don’t feel you need to force yourself to full health for our sake. Now then, much as I do enjoy our talks, I fear I’ve taken enough of your time. I’m sure others also yearn for your company; I won’t keep them from you.”

* * *

Of course, by the time her last visitor left—a healer who had the bedside manner of an oblivious bronto and perhaps the same grace of a three-legged druffalo—the sun was already high at its apex, and Niamh was left staring irritably at the tarp above her. When the flap to her tent opened yet again, she didn’t turn to greet her visitor. She merely exhaled soundlessly, wondering what she was to be subjected to next. At the flash of red hair, however, jubilant relief filled her as she saw Leliana seat herself beside her, a bowl of soup in her lap.

“Mother Giselle tells me you’ve yet to eat anything today.”

Niamh grimaced. “No, I was too nauseous to even make the attempt. I can’t even sit up properly without wanting to keel over immediately.”

Leliana hummed as she looked down upon her. Then, she simply set the bowl on her desk before reaching over to grab the pillow on her own cot, which she used to begin propping up the one beneath Niamh’s head. She promptly hushed any forthcoming protests. “You do realize we’ve slept on the ground before, yes? Sleeping on a cot without a pillow is hardly what I would consider torture in comparison,” she drawled. “In any case, we don’t need to raise your upper body up the entire way. Just enough for us to get some soup in you. Now here, you’ll need your strength.”

When the other woman then proceeded to spoon some soup toward her mouth, Niamh’s eyes widened. From the sudden heat overtaking her features, she knew there was no possible way she wasn’t blushing bright red. She stared up at Leliana incredulously, who merely arched a brow at her. 

“If you can hold onto this without spilling the soup all over you, I’ll be more than happy to let you feed yourself,” she answered wryly.

Niamh couldn’t, and Leliana had been more than aware of that fact, or she never would have brought up the option to begin with. With a sigh, she leaned forward and reluctantly pressed her lips to the wooden utensil before her, allowing herself to be fed. The entire process was carried about in relative silence, and the bowl was soon half-empty before Leliana finally spoke again.

“How are you feeling otherwise?”

“Were it anyone else asking me that, I’d immediately just tell them to leave me be.” She rolled her eyes in utter aggravation. “Physically, I feel as meek as a lamb, and Lady Vivienne, Dorian, and the other healers have already strongly advised that I not use my magic as of yet. Laying here abed doesn’t exactly appeal to me however. From what I can understand, we’ve stalled any further travel through the mountains because I’ve been unconscious the entire time.” She turned a frown to Leliana then. “Surely, we have to be running out of rations by now. I can’t imagine we’d have left Haven with much other than what was necessary.”

“We’ve enough,” Leliana reassured, setting the unfinished bowl aside when it became clear Niamh hadn’t the appetite for more. “And we can make due. There’s enough game around that my scouts shouldn’t have any trouble hunting for food should we need to restore our reserves. You’ve just recovered from an ordeal none of us can even comprehend, Niamh. No one here is going to fault you for needing time to properly recuperate.”

Yet, Niamh couldn’t help but remain pensive—a fact that Leliana quickly took notice of. 

“What is it?”

“I’ve learned some new information about this Elder One…”

Niamh went on to describe the encounter that had nearly resulted in her death. She speculated the High Dragon that accompanied the Elder One—this Corypheus—was an Archdemon. She didn’t have any proof that suggested otherwise, but she had to consider every possibility. Like with their new Red Templar enemies, however, the beast’s strength and power had been twisted to a degree from the corrupted lyrium, and it was even more of a danger than the last one they had faced together—impossible as that notion seemed. That such a terrible creature was somehow also under the thrall of Corypheus didn’t bode well for them at all. Then, as she further relayed her foe’s ranting…

“Wait. You’re certain of this?” Leliana’s eyes widened in absolute disbelief. “He claims to be one of the magisters who sundered the Veil to reach the Golden City?”

“The age and design of his robes certainly suggested they were of older Tevinter origin. Even his dictation was rather… overly formal.” She shared a look with Leliana, brows furrowing. “In any case, we’ve known it’s possible for mages to extend their lives to unnatural lengths; our discovery of Avernus back at Soldier’s Peak was proof enough of that. Perhaps Corypheus’ own twisted magic grants him a similar gift, or perhaps he actually spoke true, and his presence within the Golden City reacted with his powers in such a way that it allowed him to survive throughout the Ages.”

“Hm. Both possibilities are something to be considered. Our War Council should be made aware of this.”

“Agreed. I should—"

“—be resting,” Leliana finished for her in a tone that brooked no argument, but the notion irked her to no end. Niamh desperately wanted to help, but the other woman would have none of it. “Niamh, you fought against a would-be god and his personal Archdemon and survived an avalanche that nearly buried you alive by plunging down a mine shaft where you proceeded to break almost every rib on the fall down. Then, even with such grievous injuries, you journeyed out into the middle of a raging blizzard, where you would have succumbed to the elements if we hadn’t found you first.” She folded her arms across her chest before narrowing her eyes down at her—the icy blue of them somehow even more intimidating beneath the shadows of her cowl. “Did I miss anything that would suggest you were somehow invulnerable to such _clearly_ minor incidents?” she deadpanned.

Niamh had the courtesy to look chagrined even as she shrank beneath the woman’s glare. “I’m not trying to make light of my injuries, Leliana. I just can’t stand the idea that…” She sighed then, raising a hand—one that shook unevenly much to her disdain—to gesture vaguely down at her injured form.

Understanding flashed across Leliana’s face then, and she chewed on a lip in apparent thought before she shuffled through a few of the papers on her desk, separating them into two piles—one of which she handed over to her. “Would you be open to a compromise then? While I go inform our War Council of the new details you’ve told me, why don’t you see if you can’t find a solution to some of the problems my agents have presented in these messages? You shouldn’t need any codes to decipher these.” 

Niamh blinked in mild surprise even as she took the offered stack. “Are you certain you want me to look at these? They’re for your spy network, aren’t they?” she couldn’t help but ask, worried, but Leliana merely smiled reassuringly.

“Your insight has proven invaluable before. If you find the reading to be too dry, however, I can always ask if Josie might have some other messages with her. As I recall, she was corresponding with several dignitaries before the attack.”

Niamh felt a chill travel down her spine, and she cringed. “Please tell me they aren’t more marriage proposals…” When the other woman’s smile transitioned into more of an open smirk, she couldn’t help but whine. “Leliana!” 

“I haven’t said anything!” she protested, not even bothering to hide the laughter in her voice. “If it will put your mind at ease, however, I can ask her to set aside messages that have nothing to do with matrimony.”

“Maker’s breath,” Niamh muttered before lifting the papers in her hands. “I can make do with these for now. I’ll see if I can’t find a solution for some of them, but…” She looked back up at Leliana curiously. “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, could you also ask the mages from my inner circle to come meet with me at their earliest convenience?”

Leliana seemed curious. “Planning something, are you?” she asked, which drew a smile that sat askew and playful on Niamh’s lips.

“Aren’t I always? Honestly, if I’m to be stuck abed for the time being, I can at least begin in starting the research against our foe. I’d like to ask Dorian if he knows any contacts back in Tevinter who might know of this Corypheus. He claims to have entered the Golden City, but as far as I recall from history, there was no magister by that given name.” She shrugged. “I suspect it to be one he made for himself. What magic I sensed from him beyond the twisted nature of it was undeniably powerful, so he may have come from a reputable House, and Dorian likely would have access to that type of information.

“Solas, of course, is our lead expert on the Fade. He’s seen so much of history unfold within it, and I’d like to see if he can also find out any further information about Corypheus that way. It may not be completely accurate as he often states the events within the Fade are subjective at best, but it may give us a lead into where we could find more credible information.

“As for Lady Vivienne…” Niamh sighed as she displayed the hand bearing the Anchor to Leliana. “I need to discuss this with her.”

Her friend frowned. “Is it hurting you?”

“No, but right after I woke up from the avalanche, I was able to sunder the Veil open with it—something that hadn’t been possible for me before then.” She stared down worriedly at her palm. Although the energy emanating from it wasn’t flaring out, she could feel the steady throbbing beneath the rivers of green. “I think it’s… evolving—a possible consequence of Corypheus trying to remove it from me. I need to see if she can find a way to help me better contain it.”

“I’ll pass along your requests.” Before Leliana could completely exit the tent, however, she glanced over her shoulder to pin her with a knowing, unamused look. “And before you even think of doing anything else, be aware that there is always a Knight-Enchanter constantly standing guard outside. Under _no_ circumstances are you to leave this tent without an escort before the healers clear you to do so.”

Niamh promptly scowled before using the papers in her hands to cover her face with them, muttering a series of blasphemous curses beneath her breath.

* * *

“Has Lady Cousland been faring any better these last few days?” Josie asked, settling her cloak more firmly around her as they walked the perimeter of the encampment—a small break from their duties.

Leliana released a long-suffering sigh. “All things considered, her condition certainly could have been far worse…” 

“But…?” Josie pressed, likely believing there was more to be said. 

“Hm? Oh. It’s nothing, Josie. I just nearly forgot what a terrible patient Niamh could be when bedridden.”

Her friend’s brows immediately knitted together in consternation. “We… We are referring to the same woman, yes? As in Lady Cousland who’s as renowned for her calm, patient demeanor within the Inquisition just as much as her magical ability?”

“The very same,” Leliana drawled with a roll of her eyes. “I'm debating whether or not this rivals her recovery period following our takedown of a High Dragon at the Temple of Sacred Ashes a decade ago."

Niamh had suffered similar injuries then as well, having taken the brunt of the dragon's lashing tail before she had garnered enough energy to both blind and nullify the beast with her lightning. Unfortunately, following the retrieval of the famed urn, she had been confined to their camp for nearly a moon to properly recuperate—a fact that she hadn't cared for.

She had driven Morrigan, Saoirse, _and_ her to their wits' end by how often she snuck out of her tent until Niamh had finally snapped back: 

_"I spent nearly twenty years of my life looking at the same damned walls! I won't somehow have it substituted with a tent of all things! I promise I'll go back inside after I get some fresh air; now leave me be!"_

"Honestly, if I hadn’t been sharing the same tent as her or we were somehow without a Knight-Enchanter guard constantly on rotation, she likely would have found a way to sneak out by now in an attempt to help. Not that Sera is exactly helping matters on that end either…” she murmured upon remembering the reports from both her agents _and_ the entirety of their Knight-Enchanter allies. 

“Oh, dear...”

Leliana inhaled deeply, letting the cool mountain air settle within her lungs and temper her irritation regarding Niamh. “It’s hardly her fault; I know,” she amended. “She saw the bodies on her way to our encampment here, and I think she feels each loss keenly. That she’s stuck abed now—unable to aid anyone as she knows she can—likely grates on her more than anything, especially with as much as we’re limiting her workload.”

While Leliana attempted to ease the woman’s boredom by having her oversee some matters detailed in whatever non-coded letters her agents had sent, Niamh had gone through them all within a day and a half. Unfortunately, she hadn’t regained enough coordination in her hands yet to write on her own, which also meant sketching—her usual method of idling away time—was out of reach of her. As such, she had needed the aid of either Leliana or another scribe to help transfer down her thoughts, which only seemed to remind her of her current helplessness. 

Niamh had always been a very active woman—both mentally and physically. Since the latter couldn’t be readily tended to, Leliana reasoned she’d have to lean more on the former to temper that ever restless mind of hers. _And is it ever a relentless thing…_ she mused in partial exasperation before she spotted Weaver leaving an area of the encampment that her agents had claimed for themselves.

Besides his usual duties, she recalled that Weaver had a penchant for making intricate puzzles from time to time—ones that stumped even the canniest of her inner circle of spies. He had confessed that it had been a way to while the hours away when he’d been in an alienage before, and his creations really were such clever, little things…

* * *

[“I have something for you,”](https://youtu.be/358L_GYFxmI?t=582) Leliana said upon entering their tent—present in hand—and both her brows shot up in amusement at the groan of profound relief that immediately fell from the other woman’s lips.

“Oh, thank you! I was bored to tears reading these!” Niamh offered the impressive stack of papers over to her eagerly, and Leliana proceeded to trade them for the wooden puzzle she had received from Weaver, which her friend quickly took considerable interest in. 

“What exactly do you have here?” Leliana asked curiously, testing the weight of the documents in her hands. It had surprising heft to them. 

“Hm?” Niamh looked up briefly from where she was already turning the puzzle about in her hands, inspecting every angle of it carefully. “Ah. Lady Josephine was kind enough to pass that along my way when she visited earlier. It has to do with a trade agreement between our Inquisition and the merchant princes of Antiva. _That’s_ merely a copy she kept for record-keeping purposes.”

“That certainly sounds like her. I take it the subject matter wasn’t to your liking?” She smothered a laugh when Niamh merely wrinkled her nose in absolute displeasure even as she played with the moving spokes of the wooden device. 

“She told me to set aside three days and a dozen candles if I felt I needed to go through every detail of it,” she deadpanned. “Granted, pursuits of knowledge may be a favored past time of mine, but there’s only so much I can endure regarding the dozens of obscure trade laws between the respective countries involved before I feel my time is better spent staring into the sun. In any case, Lady Josephine already had her best diplomats reviewing the matter. My looking it over was merely a formality at best.” Niamh then proceeded to test the give of the string connected to the puzzle. “Now where in the world did you find this? I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“One of my agents made it,” she replied. “As he tells me, the goal of that puzzle is to remove the stringed ball and metal ring from the interconnected spokes. As you’ve been reading constantly the past few days, I thought something a bit more tactile would be a nice change of pace for you.” 

“You know me so well,” Niamh mused distractedly, the sound of wood shifting against one another as she began figuring out the puzzle in earnest. “Have I told you how much I value your presence here?”

“No,” she said simply as she moved to sit at her desk.

“I’ll make it a point to say it more often then.”

And it seemed Niamh greatly appreciated the distraction of something different with which to occupy her time, as she dedicated the next several hours in trying to solve the wooden contraption. 

There had only been one incident where Leliana needed to remind her to eat, and when the woman’s eyes shifted out of their sudden focused intensity, she watched as Niamh then darted her gaze outside their tent to the darkening sky with some semblance of surprise. It seemed she hadn’t noticed how quickly time had escaped her. It would have been amusing if Leliana hadn’t admitted they both seem to share the rather unfortunate habit of accidentally forgoing meals at times in favor of searching for the solution to some matter or another.

Niamh had recovered enough to where she could eat on her own now—a fact she was likely more than thankful for. The days where she spoon-fed the other woman was always met with some level of mild embarrassment from her friend, and while Leliana never would have found fault in her for needing help with such a task, she also reasoned that such reluctance to accept aid had to do with Niamh becoming so self-dependent over the years. After all, it was only recently that the mage had grown reaccustomed to the notion of having people that cared about her again. 

It was a thought that saddened Leliana, but she kept her emotions at a distance. There was no need to bring up such a matter when Niamh was already making considerable progress toward opening herself up again. 

Once dinner had been finished, they soon returned to their respective projects, and Leliana listened to the faint jingling of metal and wood in the background as she continued responding to various missives from her agents. The documents before her were the most heavily-coded, but she had long remembered the ciphers needed to understand them by heart. As such, it was little trouble for her to respond with messages of her in a variety of seemingly obscure symbols to be sent later. 

To her immense satisfaction, she came across a letter regarding Painter. She allowed a smile to grace her lips as she read that he’d been apprehended and detained, and he would remain under careful watch until she next gave word regarding his fate. _And he will have much to answer for…_ she swore. 

“Hah!” 

Leliana drew herself out of her thoughts and looked up just in time to see the stringed ball and metal ring fall free of the wooden puzzle Niamh had steadily been working on. 

“I’ve got it!” Niamh announced, remarkably pleased with herself as she turned to her then with a smile. “And you said one of your agents made this? Could you pass along my thanks then? That was absolutely wonderful.”

“I’m sure Weaver will be pleased to hear it.” Her own smile softened a touch when she saw the other woman turn her head briefly away in a yawn. “Tired?”

“Hm. Annoyed,” Niamh replied flatly. “I woke up almost a week ago. One would think that would be sufficient enough rest.”

“It’s never unwise to listen to the needs of one’s body. Not many could have survived what you’ve been through after all.” Seeing that the other woman was going to prove to be her usual stubborn self, Leliana turned to face her, believing perhaps another type of distraction was in order. “Would you care for a story?”

At the offer, that grey gaze filled with considerable—albeit surprised—interest, but as they darted toward the pile of missives atop her desk, the depths of them shifted into uncertainty.

“I wouldn’t want to keep you from working.”

“I could do with a break, and _you_ could certainly do with some more rest,” she said dryly, arching a brow at Niamh, who only smiled winsomely beneath her mock-ire. “Now then, have you ever heard of the tale of The Sleeping Beauty in the Woods?”

Niamh settled back more comfortably on the cot. “I know _of_ it, but I’ve never had it told to me before. Honestly, the reading material we had in the Circle rarely involved any subject matter outside of academia. Sometimes the older apprentices would bring some stories with them, but other than that, we were rarely exposed to fairytales.” 

Leliana frowned upon hearing that. It was disheartening to hear that the Circles wouldn’t allow children the luxury of simply being children. It was yet another failing of the Chantry, and she suppressed a sigh at the thought.

“Hm. Well, it’s been some time since I’ve told this one. Hopefully, I can still do it justice,” she said, moving her chair closer while mulling over a few details of the story in her head before reciting it. 

To her surprise, the words spilled from her with greater ease than she had anticipated, and though her audience was but one woman, she knew she had her friend’s undivided attention. Grey eyes had widened in delight whenever she spoke of several scenes regarding magic, and then that interest had shifted into one of worry as she detailed how the story’s princess had fallen under a spell of slumber. As to be expected, however, that gaze soon filled with tired exhaustion despite Niamh’s attempts to stay awake, and she was asleep by the time Leliana recounted the moment a prince had come to waken the sleeping princess. 

Satisfied the woman seemed to be resting peacefully—no labored breathing or rattling coughs like those first few days—Leliana set aside the pieces of the puzzle Niamh had been working on before proceeding to tuck the blankets back in around her. She bit back a smile when Niamh gave a small grunt of displeasure at the slight jostling, but she settled back down again soon enough. With that, Leliana returned to her desk and proceeded to work again—this time with a clearer mind.

* * *

“We cannot simply ignore this! We must find a way!”

“And who put you in charge?! We need a consensus, or we have nothing!”

The heated voices outside her tent slowly drew Niamh out of the realm of sleep with much confusion. Everything had seemed to be in order when she’d last been awake. What had changed since then? Blearily, she tried to regain her bearings as quickly as possible even as further argument ensued.

“Please, we must use reason! Without the infrastructure of the Inquisition, we’re hobbled!” Josephine pleaded, but it seemed Cullen would have none of it as he audibly snapped back. 

“That can’t come from nowhere!”

“She didn’t say it could!” She heard Leliana speak then, unsurprisingly coming to their ambassador’s defense, but she could hear the clear irritation in her tone. 

As their Spymaster, Niamh knew the woman didn’t wear her heart on her sleeve with as much regularity as she had in the past. That she was revealing any indication of her current mood at all likely meant it had been simmering for quite some time. With a grimace, she gingerly sat herself up in the cot, a hiss falling from her lips as her ribs protested the movement immediately. She felt a hand on her arm then, helping to steady her, and she looked up in surprise to see Mother Giselle there, who was looking at her in gentle concern.

“You need rest, young one.”

“How long have they been arguing?” she asked, ignoring the advice offered although she knew it was meant well. 

“Too long,” she admitted wearily, “but they have the luxury now thanks to you. Our enemy could not follow us, and with time to doubt, we turn to blame.”

Niamh gritted her teeth, looking down at herself in disgust. “I knew my being bedridden was going to lead to this.”

“This is hardly your fault. You certainly did not ask for events to unfold in such a way or be met with an enemy beyond our comprehension.” She shook her head. “Still, I fear that infighting may lead as much to our downfall as this Corypheus.”

“Ah. I suppose news of who he actually is has spread through the encampment?”

“It has. Mind you, I find some of the things he claimed to be questionable. 

“You believed he was lying then?”

“Mortals such as ourselves were never meant to sunder the Veil in such a way. That he and his colleagues tried to reach the Golden City and were consequently cast out from it as darkspawn is… both a fitting punishment and a curse upon mankind. It was for their hubris that we suffer the Blight and had the eyes of the Maker turned away from us. If even what a shred of what he says is true, however, then this Corypheus is a monster beyond all imagining.” The Chantry cleric turned to her then in consideration. “But then would it not also make sense as to why Andraste would choose someone to rise against him?”

The continued claim had Niamh glancing away in aggravation. “But I’m not her Herald! I have never claimed to be anyone beyond a woman unfortunate enough to be marked with the key to our every dilemma since this entire disaster began! Misfortune has always been more my companion than divinity, for it certainly was not the hand of the Maker or His Bride that saved me; it was my own!”

“Of course,” the other woman said lightly, seeking to soothe her anger. “The dead cannot return across the Veil after all, but the people know what they saw, young one, even if the truth is not as you or I would make it." 

As the yelling outside soon reached its peak, both their gazes turned toward the tent's entrance. Even in their most heated discussions back in Haven, she had never heard her advisors so furious at one another before. Perhaps lingering here in the mountains as long as they had was driving them stir-crazy as much as her, but she knew how quickly words said in anger could lead to much regret later on. 

Her last conversation with her sister had been much its own pain after all.

Slowly, she maneuvered her legs over the side of the cot, trying to stem the lingering spasms of pain along her upper torso. "I should be out there."

"Another voice raised in anger won't help—not even yours. Perhaps especially yours. Our leaders struggle because of what we survivors witnessed. We saw our defender stand and fall, and now we have seen her return to us again. The more our enemy is beyond us, the more miraculous your actions appear, and the more our trials seem ordained." She granted her a smile of understanding, weary though it was. "But that is hard to accept, no?"

"It always has been," Niamh admitted, turning her head away. "From the beginning, I made it abundantly clear that I never wanted any of this. My being here in any respect was not by some last saving grace. I survived the Conclave because I wandered away to help someone I believed to be in danger, and that I survived Corypheus at all was due to some daring misdirection on my part, which still very nearly got me killed in the end." Her jaw ached then with the tension she placed upon it, teeth grinding themselves at the thought that had plagued her upon waking in Haven the second time—not a prisoner but a savior. "But what does it matter what I believe? _When_ has it ever mattered? The people here may see me as touched by divinity, but to the world at large? I'm still a mage. That means nothing to them."

"As I've said, the Maker works both in the moment and how it is remembered, young one. When the time comes, all of Thedas will realize what we here have now long known to be true—that you aided the world despite what others would think of you," the older woman insisted. "And you did it not for personal gain but because it was the right thing to do. As for our people... Well." She trailed off, turning her gaze to the tent entrance again. "They keep to their faith because it is sometimes all they have left to keep them afloat amidst such uncertainty. If the matter brings them some small comfort, is it truly so wrong to deny them of it?”

“With all due respect, Mother Giselle, faith has never been anything more than an unwelcome reminder that I was never wanted in this world,” Niamh replied sullenly, and when those dark eyes turned to her then with sudden sympathy, she sighed at her own blunder. She never filtered her thoughts very well when she was exhausted. Her thoughts kept her awake as much as her pain. “Regardless, we need more than that if we’re to survive any of this. Corypheus is still very much a real, physical threat, and without a plan of defense, a base of operations, or even an indication as to where we even currently are…” She grimaced. “I don’t see how we can even hope of defeating him.”

Heedless of her injuries, she quickly rose from the cot and donned the coat that had been left folded at the foot of her comforter before escaping out in the cold. A Knight-Enchanter stood to the side of her tent as had been commonplace for nearly a fortnight now. As Niamh was just standing there, however, the man didn’t move to intercept her. He merely nodded in acknowledgment of her presence and allowed her the peace she so clearly sought, which was she utterly grateful for as ice settled in her lungs at the first breath. She focused on that sensation—gladdened to feel anything beyond her physical pains and the gnawing doubt in her chest. 

She turned her attention to her War Council, who had thankfully stopped arguing, but their new alternative didn’t seem any better. Although they stood or sat within relatively close distance from one another, the interpersonal chasms between them seemed almost fathomless, tangible as their resentment. Her heart sank at that, knowing it was yet another problem to an ever-growing list of them. 

As bleak as everything seemed, she began to wonder how she was supposed to solve any of this.

_“[Shadows fall,](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AgYxMVRtJr4) _

_And hope has fled._

_Steel your heart,_

_The dawn will come.”_

Niamh immediately jerked her head behind her to see Mother Giselle slowly moving to stand alongside her, voice raised in reverent song, and as the sound of it echoed throughout the encampment, the gaze of the people turned to meet them with varying amounts of surprise and awe. It was then that Niamh realized that most hadn’t seen her walk outside her tent in all the time she’d been there, and she felt a sinking sensation within her grow as they moved toward her, their own voices quickly joining in song. Soon, she found herself surrounded.

“No, please,” Niamh protested when many then began to take a knee before her. “You don’t have to bow to me! Please, this isn’t necessary!” She reached out to beckon them back to their feet, but the hands she raised to gently deter them were grasped reverently in their own. Some were soon overcome with emotion—voices shaking through holy lyrics—as they pressed their foreheads against the back of her fingers, seeking her devotion. There, despite her own beliefs to the contrary, Niamh was held in place beneath the weight of the faith they reserved for the one they viewed as their savior. 

A lie.

 _This is wrong,_ she wanted to say as they turned their song and their absolute conviction toward her. Willingly, they knelt in utter supplication of her, as if she were truly blessed—Andraste’s Herald—and not a complete fraud like she felt. 

_You don't know what you ask of me! I am faithless! A mage! A sinner!_ she thought, anxiety flaring high with their persistent piety toward her—one she knew would only be crushed in time. _I turned my eyes away from the Maker before He could do the same to me! I will only disappoint you!_

Even through such unease, however, she found her gaze meeting Leliana’s across the crowd, for the bright, dulcet tones of her voice resonated more strongly within her than any other offered to her in reverence. It was ever a balm against her soul, and she clung to it desperately, even as Niamh saw the message in that gaze: _I know you don’t believe in Him, and I know this isn’t the destiny you would have chosen for yourself, but you were exactly who we needed in our darkest hour._

Niamh wanted to shy away from that certainty. _It is another burden to bear,_ she responded resentfully.

 _Yes,_ those eyes said, _but you will not bear it alone; I promise._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we're 15 chapters in with over 90k words written, and we're _still_ not at Skyhold yet. I honestly don't know whether to be amazed or frustrated at myself. Lol!
> 
> Also, if you're not already following me on Tumblr, I got my head stuck in [another AU regarding these two lovely ladies,](https://morganaseren.tumblr.com/post/629670038601875456/humangoddess-au) so my concentration strayed between that and this chapter. Honestly, I have no self-control over my creativity sometimes. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Still, I'd love to hear your thoughts on any of the above content! Like it? Hate it? Think there's something that needs to be improved? Do let me know! It's how I gauge interest from my readers, especially in regards to future projects!
> 
> Oh! FYI! I'm currently dealing with inclement weather thanks to Tropical Storm Beta, so there may be an additional delay in getting the next chapter up. As I normally post updates within two weeks anyway, there shouldn't be an issue, but I thought I'd give you all a head ups. Until next time, y'all!


	16. I'm Drowning in the Waters of My Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisition finally settles into Skyhold, and within the safety of such a fortress, Niamh forges new and old connections alike. While she is content to let things remain as they are in regards to the hierarchy of their organization, it seems her War Council has other ideas…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...How in the world did this already get over 300 kudos and 4000 hits?! Like, where are all you people coming from?! I'm blushing so hard that I feel like I'm going to combust! Omg! I'm so flattered! Thank you all for the support!

“Are you purposefully trying to give me a conniption?! You have just recovered from serious injury, Cousland!”

“Dorian, for the _last_ time, I’m fine! I have been stuck abed for a week! I’m not going to take up space on one of the litters when someone else has more need of it!”

Leliana merely shook her head at the argument occurring a few paces ahead of her. Dorian—undeterred—continued fretting after Niamh, who led their way through the pass with long, confident strides. She was pleased to see that the other woman was moving relatively well again. The healers had assured them all that while Niamh was cleared to travel, they cautioned them of the lingering aches in her upper torso, which would be a source of mild discomfort over the next few weeks as they healed on their own.

Niamh had given no indication that she was in any pain, but Leliana knew how stubborn she could be when it came to hiding any of her ailments, especially if they prevented her from carrying out her usual duties. The fact that she had disguised how much the Anchor had hurt her in their early days at Haven was proof enough of that. 

In any case, both mages were far enough ahead that their conversation hadn’t carried over to the main group of survivors dutifully following at a distance behind them. A portion of her scouts, Cullen’s soldiers, and Commander Helaine’s Knight-Enchanters had been separated along the sides and rear of their coalition—ensuring the civilians they guarded wouldn’t fall to ambush—while Niamh’s inner circle followed along after the woman. 

For the past fortnight, the mountainside had been riddled with nothing but darkened skies and snowfall, which had prevented them from traveling until now. Granted, the delay had proven useful in allowing Niamh some desperately needed time to recuperate—despite the _very_ vocal protests from the woman regarding the matter—but Leliana also suspected such inclement weather also prevented them from being found by their enemy. 

That morning had been the first time they had seen a clear blue sky in what felt like ages, and many of the faithful had attributed it to the continued well-being of their Herald. Although they had offered their sincere devotion to Niamh last night, Leliana had seen how clearly overwhelmed her friend had been as so many willingly bent the knee to her. Even now, she could see that Niamh had accepted such attention with reluctance. Given the woman’s thoughts regarding Andrastian religion in general, perhaps she even found herself unworthy of such piousness. 

While Leliana had always known the mage to be calm and ever composed, Niamh had never struck her as a woman driven by insecurities. If anything, she moved forward in spite of whatever hostility and ignorance she faced, unwilling to let her personal affairs interfere with the responsibilities placed upon her. Her relationship with Cullen—albeit one of distant professionalism these days—was testament to that fact. 

Surely, Niamh could see why so many looked to her for guidance, couldn’t she? Despite an admittedly rough beginning following the destruction of the Conclave, Niamh had consistently moved their Inquisition ever forward despite the multitude of obstacles that had stood in their way thus far. She was more than capable of leading them, but after several months, their organization was still without an official Inquisitor. 

Niamh had never volunteered herself for the vacant position although the subject regarding possible candidates had come up numerous times. Instead, she had reverted to the role of tactician just as she had during the Blight, offering insight but never acknowledging the mantle of leadership beyond helping to establish connections the Inquisition had desperately needed. Even Niamh’s given title as Herald of Andraste was one the woman had shown great reticence for. It was a position of power and influence; yet, it was still one she had never would have asked for. As such, Leliana couldn’t help but wonder if it was truly because Niamh didn’t desire the attention such duties would have burdened her with or whether it had to do with her thoughts regarding her overall place within the world.

Niamh was brilliant beyond compare—of that, there was no doubt—but until recently, mages had been ill-thought of at best. There had been a time when the subject of _what_ Andraste’s Herald was had drawn contention from the most devout in Thedas, who had denounced the other woman outright. Thus, did Niamh actually fear the repercussion their organization would face were she to take the position of Inquisitor, or was there another lingering doubt the woman had yet to give voice to?

Leliana sighed soundlessly as she eyed Niamh’s back.

The Inquisition couldn’t go without a leader forever, and it was a matter their War Council would have to discuss again at some point. Still, perhaps it was best saved for when their current fate was less uncertain as they continued in their trek through the mountains. 

That they were traveling again at all was largely due to Solas' suggestion, who had spoken to Niamh of a fortress he had seen in the Fade, one that could suit their needs beyond what Haven so clearly lacked. Although he was their expert on such a mysterious realm, Leliana had her doubts, and while she hadn’t voiced them aloud, Niamh had keenly caught on to them.

* * *

_“It’s a leap of faith as any,” she had said, helping to dissemble the cots and pack away their tent._

_Leliana frowned, but she didn’t look up as she carefully rolled away several documents that would require more of her attention later. “You trust him then?”_

_“I’m not entirely sure I would call it trust as of yet,” Niamh admitted, and her expression turned pensive. “Solas is surprisingly even more reclusive than I am when it comes associating with others. He doesn’t offer his thoughts easily, but he’ll politely engage in conversation when drawn into one. I do, however, respect his knowledge in this matter, and what counsel he’s offered thus far hasn’t steered us wrong yet.”_

_Leliana silently admitted the truth in that, but she couldn’t help but have some misgivings. Even for an apostate, his past—or rather lack thereof—was a thorn against her pride as Spymaster. Although Niamh was clever and had covered her tracks well after disappearing after the Blight, there had still been sightings of her over the past decade—rare though they were—across the Waking Sea. Solas, however, didn’t seem to have any history whatsoever beyond the last few years, and it irked her to no end. In this, she had agreed with Cassandra regarding how his appearance following the appearance of the Breach had seemed entirely too coincidental, but she had little basis to back such a claim._

_“You already know I don’t like going blindly into anything anymore than you do, Leliana. Information is ever our leading blade in battle, but given our options, I’d rather we take our chances in finding this place than risk being discovered by Corypheus again.”_

_“A fair point. With the weather seemingly clear, we’re as much of a target as ever now.”_

_“Agreed, but…” Niamh’s gaze drifted askance outside their tent. “I do realize that many of the people here likely won’t be able to keep with the pace you and I are used to. It could very well be days before we find this fortress Solas mentioned at all. As such—” Grey eyes turned to her curiously then. “—if you wouldn’t be opposed to the idea, I think we’d be able to cover ground faster if we had a few of your ravens searching the skies as well.”_

_Leliana nodded in approval, pleased with both the suggestion and the idea that she was able to offer something to their search even if by proxy. “Of course.”_

_While the matter wouldn't be enough to assuage her own lingering worries as of yet, she knew they had more pressing issues to concern themselves with. Still, that didn't mean the idea of keeping a careful watch around Solas going forward was without merit..._

* * *

“Cousland!” Leliana was drawn out of her reverie when she heard Dorian shout up ahead again. “Cousland, I swear—no! _No!_ Stop climbing those rocks this instant!” 

Leliana turned her gaze in Niamh’s direction and promptly rolled her eyes when she saw the woman doing exactly that. Without seemingly a care in the world, Niamh climbed over several large boulders in an attempt to see beyond the peak of them. Although Leliana deeply cherished her friend, she was glad someone else was dealing Niamh’s stubbornness for the time being. However, when Solas made to calmly follow after her, Leliana was amused when Dorian—apparently not one to be outdone by the other mage—then proceeded to the same, curses laden under his breath all the while as he ungracefully began the ascent.

Some of Niamh’s inner circle seemed to be just as entertained watching the scene, and Leliana quietly listened in on a nearby conversation although she continued to keep her gaze forward.

Varric chuckled. “Well, they seem to be getting along rather well. Think there’s something going on there, Tiny?”

Iron Bull smiled, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully. “Nah. There’s more to it than that. Good to see her with this much fire again though,” he added, earning a string of raucous laughter from his companion. 

“Tell me about it. You’d think the healers were torturing her when they asked that she stay put to allow her injuries to mend properly.” 

A familiar, piercing caw filled the air then, and she found her attention drawn to Baron Plucky, who had flown over the rocky precipice just as Niamh reached the top of it. As expected, the raven caught sight of her form immediately, and Leliana offered her leather-clad forearm as a perch for him to land on, adjusting to his sudden weight there with little issue. He chirruped when she drew her arm closer toward her body, and Leliana smiled when he wasted little time in preening her hair delicately with his beak—his way of telling her that he had found something of interest in his travels. 

Anticipation filled her then, and when she looked up to see Niamh’s form high still above them—dark hair rustling in the gentle breeze—she watched as the woman then turned her own gaze down upon her with a beaming smile that was equal parts awe and intense relief. It could only mean one thing:

They had found their destination.

* * *

As expected, however, several parts of the fortress had fallen into various states of dilapidation over the centuries it had remained unused. The defensive walls had thankfully only shown the slightest hints of erosion—once sharp, stone edges having dulled somewhat—but they had been deemed safe enough that the majority of the civilians had breathed a sigh of relief as they began setting up tents and canopies around the fortress grounds. Given the relatively clear weather, they would serve as temporary enclosures for the time being while some of the Inquisition scouts and soldiers had gone off to survey the integrity of some of the nearby towers for more permanent use for their residents.

As for Niamh and her War Council…

Josephine had sneezed not long after they’d entered the main structure of the fortress to further inspect it, and the woman blushed at the sudden attention from her colleagues before settling her furred cloak more firmly around her shoulders. “Please excuse me!”

“It’s alright.” Niamh looked to her in quiet consideration, pausing briefly in the some of the observations she had given thus far. 

Despite having endured such cold weather for months now, it seemed their ambassador still hadn’t quite adjusted to it. Even garbed in clothing more suited for the Frostbacks, she could see how Josephine visibly shivered while the remainder of her advisors had seemed largely unaffected in their usual armor and finery.

“You said you were originally from Antiva, weren’t you?” Niamh asked, brows furrowing deeply in concern when she could nearly hear how the woman’s teeth chattered as she nodded in confirmation. “I remember it being rather warm there nearly all year-round. I’m sure the cold of the Ferelden Frostbacks must be quite the shock in comparison. Here; let me see if I can’t help with that.”

Josephine merely watched her curiously as she waved a hand in her direction, but when Niamh saw warm, honey-brown eyes suddenly widen as she stared down her own body in apparent wonder, she knew her spell had worked. Thankfully, Niamh had fine-tuned it enough over the years for her own purposes that it wasn’t the least bit taxing on her mana. Otherwise, she knew Leliana would’ve protested her use of it immediately despite the kindness of the gesture. 

“Better?” she inquired gently.

“Much!" the other woman replied gratefully, having stopped shivering. "Thank you, my lady!”

“Think nothing of it. I apologize for not thinking to offer it sooner." She laughed quietly. "I would have gladly just given you my coat, but I have a feeling our Spymaster would’ve reprimanded me for doing so.”

“For good reason, considering what you’ve just recovered from,” Leliana deadpanned, not bothering to look at her as she stepped over several rotted boards that had fallen in from the roof.

Dust and debris thickly carpeted the stone floor—kicking up in mild plumes—as they made their way through to the center of the main hall. Thankfully, the large windows that took up nearly the entire wall opposite of them provided enough light for them to maneuver by. Granted, the glass panes were still in desperate need of cleaning, but given the apparent age of them, Niamh was surprised that so many were still intact. She wondered if an effort could be made to salvage some of the stained glass artwork. _Something to worry about later at any rate,_ she thought before moving toward a side door that stood along the middle of the left wall. Some fallen ceiling beams stood in the way of it being opened, however, but before she could even bend to inspect them— 

_“Niamh.”_

There was reproach even in the simple call of her name, and Niamh turned her gaze briefly skyward in a bid for mercy before cautiously glancing over her shoulder. She was instantly met with Leliana’s unamused stare.

“I was going to ask for help to move it!” she said immediately in defense, but the other woman’s expression remained as stern as ever.

“And unless the healers have somehow failed to inform me you’ve been cleared to do any moderate lifting whatsoever, you will be doing no such thing. Cullen, Cassandra, and I will clear those out.” She gestured her away from the door, which Niamh did reluctantly. “Stand next to Josie for the time being. If you’ve any further observations to give, I’m sure she would be more than happy to write them down for you.” Leliana looked to the other woman in question for confirmation, who merely nodded and smiled. 

As genial as their ambassador was, Niamh couldn’t bring herself to hold onto her irritation even as Leliana gently nudged her away. She sighed soundlessly before walking back toward Josephine.

“She means well, my lady,” the Antivan woman offered quietly as they watched the remainder of the War Council move debris out of the way of the various doors that lined the hall.

“I know,” she murmured. 

Niamh knew she couldn’t fault Leliana’s caution, especially considering the role she now clearly played against their enemy. Corypheus had named her his rival, and with it came a world of endless troubles if she proved anything less than vigilant against him. There were still several machinations from the ancient magister she needed to outmaneuver if their victory was to be assured. Thus, she supposed having a more suitable base of operations was at least one worry she could cross off her list. Then, with a slow blink of consideration, she turned her attention back to Josephine. 

“Ah. My apologies. What was I saying before we were sidetracked?”

Josephine looked down at the notes she had written down on her parchment board. “You were asking about dwarven contacts.”

“Oh, yes. Thank you.” She gestured toward the seam of the walls that met the roof of the building, noting the absence of some stone blocks there. Such openings freely allowed gusts of wind to howl through and permeate the large room with the familiar chill of the Frostbacks. “As I’ve said, it would be an opportunity for them to help if they’d be amenable to the idea. If nothing else, I’d like them to check the foundation of everything to see that everything is settling into place well before we begin rebuilding again.”

“A fine point.” Worry marred Josephine’s expression then. “The collapsed rock shelving within the dungeons we saw earlier was cause enough for concern. An expert’s eye would be most appreciated, and dwarves are renowned for their skills in this matter.”

Niamh nodded. “For the time being, raise a call to those with us and see if we’ve anyone with experience in masonry or carpentry. I’d like to see if we can’t get some of the walls patched. This main hall has the most available space should the weather turn inclement before the rest of the structures have been thoroughly inspected for safety. Have them start here before fanning their efforts outward.”

“Of course.” Josephine made several quick strokes with her quill as she spoke. “I’ll see to it as soon as we’re done here, my lady.”

* * *

The next few weeks at Skyhold were spent overseeing various needed repairs. 

Everyone who had joined them through their arduous trek offered aid wherever they could, and when their location within the mountains had finally been pinpointed, Josephine and Leliana were able to send word to their respective allies and associates. Thus, lines of communication had been restored and business within the Inquisition resumed. As news of their survival spread from one corner of Thedas to the other, more of the faithful continued to flock to them in support.

As the buildings were steadily repaired to more suitable conditions, Niamh’s War Council had found their own respective areas to work from. Then, as people were moved out of the tents in the courtyard, they were soon replaced by various merchant trains, who were hoping to seize their luck on Skyhold’s ideal location between Orlais and Ferelden. 

Of course, Niamh didn’t expect everyone to stay. 

Skyhold was—after all—still in a relatively remote location, and some of the refugees and members of the Chantry had found their way back to other areas of civilization once a safer pathway through the mountains had been secured. All had promised aid in their own way before departing, however. Much like the scouts and soldiers Leliana and Cullen had begun placing in the various outposts they had settled around Ferelden, they offered to extend the reach and influence of the Inquisition wherever they could.

All things considered, everything was proceeding as well as could be expected.

“Lady Cousland!”

…or so she thought.

* * *

“Lady Cousland, please!” Harding begged as she eyed the woman standing on the scaffolding well above the ground.

Was it _swaying?_ It had to have been swaying. She could have sworn she saw it bend left in the passing breeze, or perhaps she was just getting light-headed at the thought of being several meters off the ground. Honestly, if people were naturally meant to be that high up, they should just have been given wings to fly. She wrung her hands nervously as she saw the Herald’s dark head turn down toward her in question.

“The healers haven’t cleared you for anything beyond light duty yet, and Sister Leliana will have my head if anything happens to you! She’ll—Oh, no…” Her eyes widened as she imagined the endless possibilities of displeasing her boss in such a way. There was a reason why she was easily the most terrifying woman in all Thedas. “T-they’ll never find my body! I’ll just disappear one day, and no one will ever even notice because she’s _that_ good at her job, and—”

“Harding. Harding!” When she looked up again, she could see Lady Cousland gently laughing as she apparently had been trying to get her attention for several moments now. “Breathe! I just wanted to secure the crossbeams here with stronger rope, and then I promise I’ll be right down.”

Harding pressed a hand against her chest, sighing in relief. “Oh, thank you,” she said in profound gratitude, especially as the woman began making her way down the ladder.

“You know,” the other woman began once she was safely on the ground again, “I nearly assumed Leliana’s spies would’ve gotten tired of watching me after all these long months. Surely, I can’t be all that fascinating that I’m steering you away from your usual duties.”

“Well, no. I mean, yes!” Her eyes widened when she realized she could have been insulting the Herald. “Yes in that you’re not at all boring! You’re… Um. How do I put this?” She grimaced as she rubbed the back of her neck awkwardly. “Look, _everyone_ watches you. Some do it because they’re faithful, but most of us agents just think you’re plain interesting.”

Silver-colored eyes—and, _wow,_ were they ever pretty—blinked in apparent surprise. “Hm. And why is that?”

“Well… mages were always in their Towers before all this happened, right?” She shrugged. “Most people have never even seen a mage in person before—let alone worked with so many like this. I know the Chantry constantly preaches about how dangerous magic can be, but it’s not like you all asked to be born with it.”

In all honesty, such rhetoric had always made Harding uncomfortable. The Chantry had never been open to the idea of accepting anyone non-human into their religion, but it seemed human mages were treated just as badly by them. It left a bad taste in her mouth like rancid fish in an old stew. 

“As far as I see it, mages are just like anyone else. They can be good like you, or they can just be plain terrible like that Corypheus. Regardless of what the Chantry believes, I don’t think we should judge an entire people based on what they _might_ do. That just leads to resentment, and when that gets to be too much…” She trailed off with a shrug. She didn’t need to say more, considering how they all wound up here to begin with, but it seemed the Herald approved of her thoughts if her soft smile was any indication.

“You’re very insightful. Thank you for your words.” Lady Cousland turned her gaze back up to the scaffolding she had recently vacated. “Truthfully, I was up there because I needed some place to think where I wouldn’t be bothered. Usually a new perspective grants me a better mental space to further contemplate my thoughts, but I think you managed to cheer me up far better than what it could have offered me. I can see why Leliana thinks so highly of her agents. You’re well-deserving of such merit.”

Harding couldn’t stop the blush overtaking her cheeks, especially when faced with the smile from the other woman that was nothing less than radiant. Suddenly, she understood why so many of the Inquisition scouts found Lady Cousland so entrancing. As far as influential figures went, the woman was utterly kind and charming—a departure from the nobility they usually spied after. 

“Y-you’re kind to say so, my lady,” she said, and as the gentle tolling of the bells signified the afternoon meal was ready, Harding did her best not to stumble after Lady Cousland, who offered to walk her back to the main hall to eat.

* * *

“Ah, there you are, my dear.”

Niamh looked up just as she took the last step down from the staircase leading into the main building, and she found Lady Vivienne and Commander Helaine standing nearby. Both had been in apparent conversation with one another, but at Niamh's presence, the elven woman seemed to innately recognize her companion’s need to discuss some matters with her. As such, Commander Helaine smiled and greeted her quietly before taking her leave to oversee the lessons of the mages down in the lower courtyard. 

“I see you’re walking about more easily now,” Lady Vivienne remarked as she reached out to cup her face, gently turning her head to and fro to look for any further indication she was still injured. 

Niamh had noticed the older woman had been more forthcoming with such casual intimacy as of late, especially following the attack on Haven. If any of their other companions had noticed, they were wise enough not to voice it around the other mage, but she doubted Lady Vivienne would have cared even if they had. She was not one who could be easily unsettled by the opinions of others. If anything, she thrived in spite of them, which Niamh attributed to the woman's experience over the years, and it seemed Lady Vivienne was trying to impart that same knowledge onto her in her own way. 

“You’re looking a sight better now, my dear, although…” The other woman’s lips visibly pursed as she stepped back to look down at her current attire. “What on earth do they have you wearing?”

Niamh blinked. “Ah. One of the merchants offered a set of these to me since my wardrobe was lost back in Haven. It was a generous offer, but the colors aren’t really to my liking…” She winced lightly as she tugged at the sleeve of the formal jacket she was wearing. Despite her efforts, no matter how she accessorized her outfit, one couldn’t really hide the fact that the overall solid beige color did nothing for her pale skintone. That it had also been one of the _better_ options available to her—for its simplicity if nothing else—didn’t help much. “I realize that makes me sound rather ungrateful, but—"

“Nonsense, my dear.” Lady Vivienne waved a hand dismissively. “Fashion is an extension of one’s presence—an armor of influence. If one does not feel comfortable within it, then it lessens the image we present. Now then…” she trailed off, slipping an arm through hers, and Niamh found herself being gently led through a stroll around the courtyard. “Let me see if I can’t get in contact with one of my colleagues in Val Royeaux. She's truly such a splendid seamstress. Why, her designs are nothing less than sublime. We’ll see if she can’t offer something more to your taste. My treat, Darling,” she said before Niamh could even begin to protest. “We can see if your new quartermaster has any of the needed supplies to properly take your measurements, but perhaps the next time we’re back in Orlais, I’ll treat us both to an extended spa day. It does wonders, you know.”

Given how the other woman often kept herself at such a distance from everyone—even those of Niamh’s inner circle—she understood the gesture for what it was, and Niamh found herself touched by it. She smiled in agreement then. “That sounds lovely, Lady Vivienne.”

* * *

Niamh groaned quietly as she rolled her shoulders back, trying to rid herself of the crick near the nape of her neck and along her spine. It was well-deserved, given that she spent several long hours cleaning the study she’d found downstairs from Josephine’s office. Even after living at Skyhold for several weeks now, she was still discovering more of the fortress’ secrets. She had been completely enamored by the room from the very first moment she'd laid eyes it, especially with the multitude of bookshelves that stretched high into the ceiling, filled with tomes—albeit rather dated—on various subjects. 

She would have given anything for a small area—one that offered privacy no less!—like this back during her days in the Circle, and she was determined to restore the study to the best of her ability. While she silently mourned the room’s lack of natural lighting, with a bit of veilfire in a few carefully-placed sconces, it served as well as any. While Niamh could have spent hours in there with little effort at all, she realized quickly that Leliana’s agents were bound to become nervous if she didn’t make an occasional appearance.

She left through the kitchen, as it was the quickest way down into the courtyard, and she found herself having to gently fend off the head cook’s—a kind, matronly woman who hailed from the Free Marches—attempts to get her to sit and eat. Niamh assured her that she could wait until dinner like everyone else, but she still found herself with a basket full of simple, apple pastries shoved into her hands. 

“To hold you over until supper then, Your Worship!” the head cook said before cheerily ushering her out the door before she could even think to protest. 

Bewildered, Niamh eyed the small mountain of freshly-baked goods. “This might as well serve as a meal in and of itself,” she muttered, still taken aback, but to her surprise, a quiet chorus of laughter met her words immediately.

Niamh looked up just in time to see a group of children gasp and duck behind the barricade of the nearby stable. Stealth, however, didn’t seem to be their strong suit, as they still poked their heads around the corner of the half-wall to look at her, wide-eyed. Blinking owlishly, she looked from them to the gates leading into the Skyhold and then back again. 

As far as she’d been aware, they hadn’t had any children living with them prior to settling into the fortress. Given what had occurred before then, she was thankful of that fact. Still, she assumed Josephine would have informed her if the children of visiting dignitaries would be present, or did they belong to couples who had sought to make their pilgrimage here? Niamh certainly didn’t see any other adults nearby, and as she peered into the barn behind the stable, she noted that Blackwall wasn’t about either. Although she was still perplexed, Niamh made certain her expression was warm and friendly as she beckoned to them.

“Are you all here alone?” she asked, but when her inquiry provided no answers whatsoever, she hastened to reassure them. “It’s alright. You’re not in trouble. I just want to make sure you’re not lost.” 

Skyhold was rather large after all. It wasn’t implausible to think that a child might have gotten turned around within its many vast twists and turns. 

“We’re not,” a girl answered, poking a head full of golden curls out a bit more. “We just wanted to see the horses since our teacher was talking to Varric.”

 _Teacher? Ah._ Out of curiosity, she allowed her senses to stretch out over the children, and she felt the familiar prickle of magic surrounding them all. It made more sense now. Mages had been among one of the numerous pilgrims to Skyhold as of late. Most were looking to either help the Inquisition or sought sanctuary there after having been alone for so long. 

The little girl then took that moment to break away from her pack of friends, and Niamh noted how plainly dressed she was. She didn’t have the Circle robes most of the apprentices within the fortress still wore, but she reasoned that would likely change once more merchants could make their way here to sell their wares. In any case, she couldn’t stop her smile from growing when the girl continued to make her way toward her with utmost bravery in her steps. 

“You’re like us, right?” she asked, stopping to look up at her with eyes wide with awe. “A mage?”

“I am, yes.”

Although excitement was still visible in her green eyes, the girl bit her lip, suddenly turning shy as she beckoned Niamh to lean down. She obliged willingly, carefully setting aside the basket of pastries on the ground beside her as she crouched so that the little girl could whisper into her ear. 

“Is it okay if my friends come over to see you too?”

The corners of her lips began curling up again in spite of herself. Niamh nodded. “Of course.”

The girl beamed in response and promptly turned around, signaling something to her friends. Admittedly, Niamh had been expecting four or five companions at most, but her eyes widened at the small herd of children—humans and elves alike—suddenly racing around the stable barricade and running right toward her. 

Before she could even fully comprehend what was happening, Niamh soon found herself sitting flat on the ground with a handful of children in her lap. She patiently allowed all of this though—especially given how intent they seemed to be in climbing all over her—and settled her palms on the ground behind her to provide herself more stability as small hands curiously pressed and prodded at the gleaming buttons and fastenings along her formal jacket. Meanwhile, the older kids—most not older than twelve—clustered in a ring around her, firing off questions one after another.

“What type of magic do you have?”

“I specialize in elemental magic.”

“Wow!” A boy’s eyes grew wide. “All of them? Really?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know other forms of magic though?” another girl asked.

“I do, but—” Niamh laughed, expression turning a touch sheepish as she turned to her. “I’m only average at them at best.”

“So why do you have a boy’s name?”

“I…” She couldn’t help but frown in confusion. “Pardon?”

“Everyone calls you Harold. Why?”

Niamh blinked, and it took an additional moment before realization finally dawned over her. “Oh! It’s actually _Herald,_ ” she corrected, but she grimaced, knowing how little difference there truly was when said aloud, so she took the time to spell out the title to them, which they seemed to understand. “It means ‘messenger’ essentially, but, please, you’re more than welcome to just call me Niamh.” 

“Well, everyone keeps saying how important you are, so what message are you trying to deliver to us?” The boy grinned when she offered only a long-suffering sigh in response. 

“Sometimes I wish I knew…” she deadpanned, smiling somewhat when the remark sent the kids around her into fits of tittering laughter. Then, she heard the shifting of the grass behind her along with a large shadow looming overhead. Niamh looked over her shoulder, and she found herself staring up at the dark muzzle of a sizeable mabari warhound. “Ah.” She blinked. “Well, hello there.” 

Niamh held still as he leaned down to inspect her curiously from where she was still sitting on the ground. He sniffed about her face, but when one of the dark curls of her hair brushed his nose, he immediately pulled back with a reflexive sneeze—the sound of it startling them both—before he simply blinked at her. They were caught in standstill for a moment before she found herself spluttering in utter surprise when the mabari leaned forward and licked a wet streak down the middle of her face. 

“Hey!” she said between laughter, especially when he tried to present her with more slobbery kisses.

“His name’s Rebel!” announced the first girl she met. 

Her lips quirked up in amusement at that as she tried to fend off the friendly mabari. “Is he now?

“Uh-huh! We’re taking care of him right now!”

Rebel gave a small, rumbling ‘woof’ in confirmation. The children in Niamh’s lap then squealed with laughter, vacating their spots just as the mabari moved to drape himself over her in apparent satisfaction. She grunted at the sudden weight even as the children laughed raucously around her.

“He likes you! That must mean you’re a good person.”

“Do you think so?”

“Uh-huh,” the blonde girl nodded. “He barks at people if he doesn’t like them, or he’ll bite, but that’s only when people try and hurt us.”

“Oh.” Niamh frowned even as she absentmindedly rubbed at one of Rebel’s ears, earning her a low growl of approval. “Did… that happen often during your travels here?”

“We try not to get noticed too much, but sometimes we get looked at anyway,” a young elven boy answered, but Niamh’s expression turned more concerned when he toed the ground, lower lip quivering. “It was mostly Templars or people who didn’t like us. Don’t know why. We never did anything to them…”

Niamh’s heart broke upon hearing that, especially when she saw how such mistreatment had an enduring impact on the children. They had turned rather despondent upon recalling the memory, and even the oldest among them hadn’t been unaffected as they looked away to hide their tears. Helplessly, she watched as those eyes seemed to lose their spark of joy, and she bit her lip.

“I’m sorry to hear—”

“ _There_ you all are!” 

She looked up abruptly when she saw a woman striding toward them, worry clearly evident in her expression. Ever the artist, Niamh wordlessly examined features that were clearly Fereldan in origin along with dark hair that cascaded down her shoulders in gentle curls and rich, honey-gold eyes. Like the children, however, the other woman was dressed in rather understated clothes, but there was no mistaking the staff she carried over her shoulder. 

_Hm. This must be their teacher then,_ she mused, idly listening as the woman quietly scolded the children for their sudden departure.

“You know better than to just wander off without telling me,” she said, disapproval heavy in her voice as she settled her hands on her hips.

One of the older boys twiddled his thumbs together, pointed ears twitching nervously. “But this place is supposed to be safe for mages…” he murmured hesitantly. “I thought we didn’t have to hide anymore, Bethany?”

The other woman sighed, running a hand through her hair. “You don’t, but as large as this fortress is, it’s easy to get lost. I don’t mind if you want to explore, but at least do me the courtesy of telling me first so I don’t have to worry. Understood?” She seemed satisfied when several small heads nodded sheepishly at her, but Niamh blinked—startled—when the woman did a doubletake upon turning her gaze in her direction.

“Rebel, no! What did I say about laying across people you’ve never met before?” At her words, the mabari’s ears merely pressed themselves flat against his skull as he whined in disappointment. “Come on now; off.” With a sound akin to a sigh, he did as he was told, dutifully retreating off to the side with the children while the woman rushed up to Niamh. “I’m so sorry,” she said, reaching down to help her up. “I hope they haven’t been any trouble to you.”

Niamh laughed as she brushed the bits of dirt and grass off her outfit. “Not at all. If anything, they made the break from my usual duties all the more enjoyable.” She canted her head curiously. “And did you truly name your mabari Rebel?”

“Hm? Ah, no. He belongs to my sister actually. I’m simply looking after him while she’s away at sea.”

“And they said your name was Bethany?”

“Oh! Where are my manners? Yes, I’m Bethany.” The woman almost seemed to hesitate for a moment before adding, “Bethany Hawke.”

Both of Niamh’s brows rose at the familiar surname. “I don’t suppose you've any relation at all to…” She trailed off, allowing Bethany to finish the sentence if she so desired it, which she did with a small, embarrassed nod.

“Yes. My older sister’s the Champion of Kirkwall.” She gently gestured to Niamh’s left hand. “And it would seem you’re the Herald of Andraste if I’m not mistaken.”

“Indeed, I am.” She did her best to hide a wince at the title. “Still, I’d much rather you called me Niamh, but I’ll accept Lady Cousland if you feel it’s too informal.”

“Niamh?” The other woman seemed to be testing the name on her tongue as she looked at her. Not that Niamh could blame her. It wasn’t a common name these days. “Very well. Niamh then.” She smiled. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

She nodded, relieved. “Likewise.”

They both looked down when one of the younger kids—the elf boy who had been speaking to her earlier—toddled up to Bethany, gently tugging on her sleeve to get her attention.

“Sorry…” he whispered, clearly contrite even as he kept his gaze on the ground. “We really just wanted to see the horses.”

“It’s alright,” the other woman said, smiling as she gently ruffled his hair, earning a small ring of laughter. “Remember: just tell me next time.”

Niamh took the opportunity to look toward the stables, seeing what horses were available. “Ah. I think the majority of my companions took theirs out already to explore some of the mountainside sights, but you’re welcome to meet my stallion if you’d like.”

As if realizing she was talking about him, Tiernan nickered gently from behind his stall, grabbing the children’s attention instantly. He was an Amaranthine Charger, according to Master Dennet, and he had a beautiful, pitch-black coat with eyes that were also nearly as dark. Temperament-wise, he was an utterly gentle beast, and their resident stable master had been certain he’d be perfectly paired with her, which she had agreed with after a few expeditions with the stallion. In the inclement weather they sometimes traveled in, he gave no indication that rain or thunder even bothered him, and even with the group of children now pressing up against his stall, he expressed nothing less than absolute patience for them.

“Here.” Niamh reached down into her basket of pastries and offered one to them, smiling. “These have apples inside of them, and I have it on good authority that Tiernan simply adores such fruit. Each of you can tear a piece of this one off and feed it to him, and he’ll know you’re friendly. When you’re done, perhaps you might like to join me in finishing the rest of these?”

The gazes of all the children staring up at her lit up with considerable interest then. “Really?” asked the blonde girl she had met first. 

She laughed. “Absolutely. I can’t very well eat them all on my own.”

One of the boys gently took the pastry from her, and they all then proceeded to tear equal pieces from it as instructed before making their way to Tiernan’s stall. His ears flicked, nostrils flaring curiously upon scenting the treats they held. One of the girls took the initiative in giving him her piece first, which he lipped gently from her fingers. Upon swallowing the little tidbit, the stallion immediately leaned his long neck further down to try to find more of the sweet pastry, earning overjoyed laughter from his new friends.

As promised, once they all returned back to her and Bethany’s side, they all sat about the grass, enjoying the basket of apple pastries between them. For a time, Niamh answered what questions they had regarding her and the Inquisition, but the conversation then turned to other subjects more suited to children their age, and they began talking amongst themselves before long, which she didn’t mind.

“You’re good with them,” Bethany commented, absentmindedly petting Rebel, who was dozing off next to her.

Niamh merely shrugged, careful not to disturb the quiet boy—likely no older than three or four years of age—on her lap, who was still eating his pastry. “We were all children once. Sometimes I wish someone had certainly been that patient with me when I’d first entered the Circle. Times of uncertainty are difficult for anyone—them most of all, I would think.”

“Agreed. You know…” she trailed off, turning to look at her curiously then. “I had my doubts when Varric originally told me of your Inquisition, that someone like us could have been raised to your position to help and was _respected_ for it. Given everything that’s happened…” She released a short breath of laughter. “It seemed almost too impossible to believe.”

Niamh tilted her head in gentle inquiry. “And now?”

“I’m starting to believe a little more now. Who knows? Perhaps we’ll see a world more accepting of our people within our lifetimes.” Bethany turned her attention to the children happily chatting before them, and her smile turned soft and thoughtful. “I would like it more for them though. More than anything, I just want them to be happy and to live freely as they are without fear of scorn from others for simply the gifts they possess.”

Niamh found herself smiling at the sentiment. “It’s certainly a noble goal to work toward. I’ll do my best at any rate.” Without really meaning to, she found her gaze turning skyward when she saw one of Leliana’s ravens head into the tower of the Rookery. She found herself envious of them at times, of how they could take flight and enjoy the freedom of the skies, away from the burdens of others if only for the moment. “It would be nice to live in a world where we could simply… be.”

“Lady Cousland!”

Her head—along with that of everyone near her—turned at the call, and somehow, she wasn’t at all surprised to see Cassandra making her way toward her with an expression of utmost urgency.

“But I suppose that will have to wait a little longer,” she added ruefully, earning cries of protest from the children around her. She offered her apologies to each of them before gently lifting the boy still on her lap up to his feet. As she moved to raise herself as well, she found her progress halted by a small hand tugging at her sleeve. Niamh looked up to see the same boy looking at her solemnly.

He hadn’t said a single word to her in all the time he and his friends had been around her, but it hadn’t bothered Niamh. She knew how shy children could be and hadn’t pushed him to do more than he was comfortable with. For a moment, she felt her heart clench in pain upon remembering little Mila; there were certainly similarities between them. He surprised her once more, however, when he gently reached for her hand. 

“Hurts?” he asked quietly. 

It took Niamh a moment to understand that he was referring to the Anchor along her palm, which was currently muted with its viridian glow. Her eyes softened, and she offered him a smile as she shook her head and answered honestly. “No. I’m fine.” 

The boy nodded before patting her cheek lightly. “I like you. You’re good.” And then he moved a few steps over to slip onto Bethany’s lap, drawing looks of amusement from both of them. 

“Rather nice group you have here.” Niamh gestured toward the basket. “Please do help yourself to the rest of the pastries if you’d like.”

“Thank you,” Bethany said in response to both statements, her smile indicating that she was also grateful for her overall patience regarding the children, who raised their voices toward her in question.

“You’ll come back and see us, right?” The blonde girl asked hopefully, raising her voice over her companions in order to be heard. 

“I…” Niamh looked between them and Cassandra, who was beginning to shift in place at her continued delay. “Well, if I’m not too busy with my duties, and if your teacher wouldn’t be opposed to the idea, I wouldn’t mind coming by to see you all now and again.

Several little heads immediately swiveled toward Bethany, who only blinked at the sudden intensity of their gazes. However, she simply offered a simple shrug as she looked up at Niamh with a smile. “I have no objection. I suppose it would be nice to have them meet mages other than me.”

A chorus of cheers instantly met her words, and Niamh laughed even as she made her way toward the impatient Seeker. “It’s settled then. Farewell for now.”

* * *

Leliana held back a sigh when Niamh only stared blankly at Cassandra, who was becoming increasingly uncomfortable under the silence as they stood on the middle landing of the stone staircase leading up into the main hall. It was to be expected however. Following her colleague’s original interrogation of the woman after the Conclave’s destruction, their relationship hadn’t grown beyond a tenuous acquaintanceship at best. 

Cassandra had hoped to repair such a rift by being the one who officially announced Niamh as Inquisitor. While Leliana had agreed Niamh was well-suited to the role, she had tried to dissuade Cassandra from her course, as the mage would likely would receive the news better from someone else. Unfortunately, the other woman wouldn’t be deterred in her decision. 

_“While I may not always agree with every decision she makes, I want her to know that I respect her.”_

As Leliana expected, however, Cassandra had earned herself the opposite reaction from Niamh.

“You do realize I’m still a mage, don’t you?” she deadpanned, her flat gaze soon turning skeptical as she raised a brow at the Seeker. “My abilities aren’t like a cold that comes and goes as it pleases, disappearing on the wind with the faintest sneeze.”

“I’m well-aware…” Cassandra’s voice was equally as sarcastic, but she sighed before continuing, “I will not pretend that no one will object, but times are changing. You know this as well as I do. Perhaps it was well past time we all began listening to the voices that have long been shunned. If someone is to pave the path forward, however, it must be you.”

Cassandra stepped aside then, allowing Leliana to move forward, and she hid her wince when Niamh immediately saw the ceremonial sword she held out for her. She watched as those grey eyes widened, and she was disconcerted to find that it wasn’t surprise in that gaze but sheer fear. Niamh hadn’t shown any inkling of it when she had been faced with Corypheus and his Archdemon, but against such an appointment of this nature…

Niamh was completely terrified. 

“You _agreed_ to this?” the other woman exclaimed, disbelief spilling from her lips like daggers of accusation.

Leliana bit her lip before nodding. “We all did. It was an unanimous vote.” Pain flared within her chest when she saw the dread within mist-grey eyes slowly shift into nothing less than absolute, pained betrayal.

“No…” Niamh whispered so quietly that were it not for the short distance between them, her words would have been lost to the wind. “How could you? You would just…” Her shoulders shook with the anger she was trying to keep at bay, but she and Cassandra shared a look when they felt the familiar prickle of lightning at the back of their necks. “You can’t possibly be serious!” she hissed, keeping her voice down so that they crowd below them couldn’t hear. “Was it not enough you gave me a title I never wanted? Tied me to a faith that has long ignored my people? You would burden me with this as well? No.” Niamh swept the air in front of her with a hand. “Find someone else.”

“There would be no Inquisition without you, Niamh,” she argued. 

“You should want someone the Chantry can actually swallow into their doctrine, not the apostate who just so happened to have the misfortune of the Anchor branded across her hand!” The corner of Niamh’s lips lifted up into a sneer, and it was so out of place for a woman who was otherwise so self-collected in every aspect of herself that Leliana was immediately taken aback. “If they have their way, history will never even know that I was a mage a century or two from now!”

“That won’t happen.”

“Just as the Canticle of Shartan never happened?” Niamh countered sharply, which gave Leliana pause as the other woman frowned deeply. “I’m as familiar with the verses and scriptures as you are, Leliana, but the only difference is that you chose it while it was forced upon me as a child of the Circle. I know only all too well how the Chantry subjects others to its whims, especially those it sees as beneath it.” 

Piercing silver eyes narrowed with the glare she directed at them both, and the intensity of it was almost tangible, pressing down upon them liked a veiled weight. That it was also paired with the vehemence offered from Niamh, Leliana found that she had no words with which to offer a defense.

“If I accept any of this, they will take my legacy and allow it to become another leash to subject mages,” Niamh continued, biting the words out between clenched teeth. “Worse, should I fail in any of this, it will not be the Inquisition who is to blame. No, Thedas will look to my people as the scapegoat just as they always have. That is what you would ask of me, and I will not have it.”

“Lady Cousland—”

Niamh immediately whirled on Cassandra. “And are you not more qualified than I am?! You already outrank the few Templars here as Seeker! You’ve the mantle as the Hero of Orlais, and you’re Right Hand of the Divine! Surely, others would seek to join with us more readily with you as the Inquisitor!”

“Yes, but the title should go to the one who has _already_ been leading us!” Cassandra said heatedly in protest. “And you cannot deny that you have been doing exactly that ever since you agreed to join us!”

“To offer tactics! Strategy! I can serve just as well behind the scenes as I’ve done before! You needn’t give me leadership over this!”

“Then, as tactician, you should know that you’re already more than qualified for this role,” Leliana insisted firmly, and when those eyes turned back upon her again, she didn’t allow herself to waver, settling her mask of Spymaster back into place even as she saw Niamh’s own fury beginning to break under such steadfast resolution. 

They both knew this was a decision that could no longer be avoided, and as such, Niamh no longer had a way of escaping the inevitable.

“You think this is how I’ll save us? By shackling me with more burdens until you’d have me drown beneath the weight of them?” Niamh’s voice cracked under the incredulity of the statement, and she looked to her in despair. “I _never_ wanted this, Leliana. You know that better than anyone else here.”

“I know,” she said, allowing some measure of compassion to bleed through her voice. “I’m sorry, Niamh, but you know that I would not have cast my vote in your favor if I didn’t know you were best person to lead us. The remainder of our War Council believe much the same.” Niamh turned her eyes away—as if it would somehow shield her from the truth of her words—and Leliana ducked her own gaze to catch them again much to the other woman’s reluctance.

“I know you don’t care for the Chantry, and I have never blamed you for that belief. This, however, isn’t about them; it’s about the multitude of people they’ve refused to help.” She sighed, understanding just how deeply Niamh’s religious misgivings went; she long had cause for such an opinion. “You are right in that a change is desperately needed, but we must first set the necessary foundation. The Inquisition needn’t be simply an organization of faith,” she stressed. “It can be one willing to do what’s best even if the path forward is one mired by difficult—and even cruel—circumstance. Let the Chantry know where you stand in regards to the greater good, and let the mages understand there is a better way forward by becoming the example they need. The enemy we face is a threat to everything we hold dear, yes, but you can let all of Thedas know that there is hope to be found even in the darkest night if you would but help lead the way.”

Although Niamh had said nothing to her words, Leliana knew she was listening upon watching those pale eyes retreat inward in contemplation—a familiar sight to those whom knew her well. As such, she held out the sword to the other woman again, silently asking her to reconsider her answer.

“The only thing left is for you to decide the path forward.”

* * *

Niamh slowly ran her fingers across the flat of the blade Leliana still held in her hands, feeling the cool metal beneath her touch. She looked up then at Leliana once more, who offered her quiet reassurance in the steady blue depths of her eyes, which grounded her more than anything else on Thedas ever could. Even after a decade apart, Leliana still had such faith in her, and despite her own swirling doubts, she couldn’t bring herself to intentionally disappoint her in such a way. 

It felt too much like damning herself if she even tried.

As such, Niamh could only offer a weak smile as she slowly took the sword from the other woman and made her way toward the edge of the stone staircase. She hesitated briefly when she saw the crowd gathered below—larger than she had anticipated—but everyone within the Inquisition was present here from Leliana’s agents, their soldiers, the Knight-Enchanter brigade led by Commander Helaine, her mage allies, and the ever-devout faithful. 

While the clear divides Niamh had seen between some of the groups were still there in some sense, the tension was lessening by the day as Cullen and Commander Helaine had begun working to integrate their respective charges into combined teams for missions beyond Skyhold. Granted, it was an option she had hopefully anticipated, but—as Commander Helaine had told her in quiet approval following a training exercise—that it occurred at all was simply because she had facilitated the necessary threads to make it possible.

At once, she saw Leliana’s point—reluctant though she was to accept it. Whether or not she led the Inquisition formally, change was already occurring. If such open cooperation could exist here, could the same not happen elsewhere? Someone had to take the leap of faith required to establish the solid foundation it needed, and while she would have preferred a position beyond that of such a public figurehead, if her people were ever to be truly free, she owed it to them to try and lead by example. 

But then why did it feel so much like surrender? 

Niamh looked down at the sword, testing the weight of it against her palm, much like she had seen Saoirse do a thousand times before in what felt like another lifetime. A smile lingered on her lips—unbidden and sardonic.

_It should have been you standing here._

She twirled the sword in a one-handed grip. Fully healed now, and after a decade of wielding a polearm-inspired staff, the weight of it wasn’t more than she could manage as she brandished the weapon, raising it high, earning the sudden thunderous approval of the masses below her. Niamh ignored Cullen and Josephine’s combined praises and the consequent roaring of the crowd their words brought. She was too lost in her thoughts.

_Is your fate to become mine now?_

[Little by little, she could feel the invisible chains of duty fettering her in place until she felt like she was suffocating as she was dragged down into its vast sea.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gKPOtdmSoAI)

_That you were able to tread the depths of their constant expectations… You were a far stronger woman than I ever was, Saoirse._

Niamh felt herself sinking further into that abyss of endless responsibility and obligation, where only the barest fragments of light illuminated the uncertainty that awaited her within the role of Inquisitor. In addition to the title of Herald of Andraste, she had been lifted into a position where she could no longer hide from the eyes of Thedas, and though Leliana had tried her best to reassure her, she couldn’t help but think of how history would see her from this point forward. 

Her successes had been hard-won, but that didn’t mean that defeat couldn’t also loom along the horizon. Would she be a messiah of salvation or a harbinger of death, unknowingly leading them all toward the surest path to destruction? Only so thin a line separated them after all, and all it would take was a single misstep. Her lips thinned.

_I didn’t want any of this._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So not as much happy Niamh/Leliana content as I would like, but I promise there will be more in the future! I just needed to use this chapter to set up a couple things along the line. 
> 
> Also, there are a couple small things I'd like to clear up. :) 
> 
> For those who don't already know, Niamh and Saoirse are Irish names, and, yes, that does mean I headcanon my Couslands here to essentially be the equivalent of a family of Irish heritage in the world of Thedas. Now, how Irish names _sound_ and how they're _spelled_ are two entirely different things. They're never what you expect them to be. Lol. As such, I made a quick note regarding pronunciation in the beginning notes of chapter 1, but for a quick summary: 
> 
> Niamh = Neev
> 
> Saoirse = Sir-sha
> 
> Of course, the pronunciation is also dependent on regional dialect, but for the purposes of this fic, the above is how you would say them here. 
> 
> Because Niamh is of Irish descent, she also wouldn't necessarily have the default female Inquisitor voice you would hear in-game. I tend to headcanon [Lisa Hannigan](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uVlVLlhTi4w) as Niamh's voice claim since she's quite calm and soft-spoken, which suits Niamh perfectly. Some of you may also know Lisa better as the VA for Blue Diamond in the Steven Universe series. Lol. So if you ever wanted to know what Niamh actually sounds like when she's upset--such as in this chapter or when she took down Alexius back in chapter 13--[click here!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r3zBlXf7Tqc)
> 
> That said, if you ever see anything underlined here in the notes or even in the body of my fic itself, just know that they're hyperlinks that you can click on if you ever want to hear some of the things I listen to while writing a particular chapter or just sources in general that I think might help you get a better grasp of an idea I'm trying to convey. 
> 
> Thanks as always for your patience as I worked to get this chapter up! I look forward to hearing your thoughts on it! Thanks so much for your continued support in this little story of mine! Until next time, lovely readers!


	17. Lonely Voices Talking to Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Niamh navigates through uncertain waters with her new role as Inquisitor, she meets with another woman of equal acclaim before tending to an old thorn in her relationship with one of the members in her inner circle.

Niamh couldn’t help but smile—and the gesture felt more genuine than any other she had displayed within the past few weeks—as she looked at herself in the mirror, [admiring the cut of her new outfit and the fine details which decorated it.](https://morganaseren.tumblr.com/post/632447247318122496) While she had given Lady Vivienne’s contact the colors she preferred, it seemed that Lady Rochelle's reputation as a seamstress was more than well-earned. 

Her attire was black overall, but there was a delicate art to the silver threading which lined the front lapel of her jacket and decorated the trim of the garment with swirling flora—the color almost making them look winter-touched. The red sash cutting across her form at an angle served as the perfect contrast. The rich vibrancy of the color drew eyes to it immediately as a point of interest, allowing one’s gaze to then travel to her outfit's other details. A knotting of the fabric at her waist along with a studded belt in dark leather—the same material of her boots and gloves—was made for added measure so that it wouldn’t easily come undone. 

While she had always assumed Orlesian fashion placed more of an emphasis on form rather than function, Niamh was pleased to discover her attire didn’t seem to compromise in either comfort or warmth, making it well-suited to her day-to-day duties around Skyhold or when she ventured down into some of the valleys and groves around the Frostbacks, where some of the more experienced mages needed the extra space to properly master their abilities. 

Lady Vivienne slowly circled around her then with a discerning eye, and Niamh found herself straightening in place beneath it. The other woman reached out only to settle a fold of her sash so that it laid flatly beneath an epaulette, but Niamh had been pleased she’d even remembered the steps in tying the fabric to begin with. It had been well over a decade since she had worn anything so fine after all. Then, with the barest hint of a smile, Lady Vivienne stepped back with a firm nod of approval.

“There we are, Darling. How do you feel?” 

“Amazing,” Niamh admitted easily. She’d nearly forgotten how a change of clothes could make all the difference. It had been so long since she last had a chance to indulge in fashion like this. “I couldn’t have asked for anything better.”

Vivienne clapped her hands together gently in satisfaction. “Splendid. I knew it would be a wonderful idea to introduce you to Lady Rochelle personally. While she’s admittedly retired from offering her talents across Orlais, she _does_ , however, make an exception for those she finds particularly enjoyable.”

“That would certainly explain why I’ve never seen your style emulated in Val Royeaux. Such custom pieces could only be made for a favored patron.”

Lady Vivenne tipped her head in acknowledgement of the compliment. “And you are now counted as one of them. Oh, she was gushing with delight over the sketches you gave her regarding the embroidery work. I don’t believe she’s had the pleasure of working with another artist in such a way.”

Niamh felt mild embarrassment drift over her, and she couldn't help but avert her eyes. “She’s much too kind. I may have laid the groundwork, but she was still the one to put the ensemble together in such a stunning way.”

“I’ll be sure to pass along your compliments then. Your outfit couldn’t have arrived at a more fortuitous time. With you officially leading the Inquisition now, it wouldn’t do at all to have you mistaken for a simple commoner.”

Reluctant though she was to admit to the idea, Niamh could see the truth of it. The matter of appearances was just as important as the fine tact needed for diplomacy. “I suppose it would make sense for everyone to see we’re an authority to be respected,” she replied, which the other woman took to warmly.

“Not just respected, my dear. Awed. Feared. _Aspired_ to.” She let an elegant hand drift toward one of the open balcony doors, where the quiet drone of the courtyard below could be heard. “You now command an army of the faithful outfitted by the coin of the nobility. You must be a woman the commoners aspire to be and to whom nobles bow.”

“The latter of which I haven’t been in years,” Niamh drawled with faint amusement. “It’s quite a lot for anyone to readily achieve.”

“It is admittedly a challenge that all great leaders must face,” she began, turning to face her, “but if your exploits—both in past and more recent memory—are any indication, I’ve no doubt you’ll be able to meet whatever obstacles might await you. As stories of your continued accomplishments spread, however, so, too, will doubt. They will question what they’ve heard—” Lady Vivienne gestured toward her new formal attire then. “—but they will believe what they see.”

“A fair point, Lady Vivienne. Thank you again for this.”

“Think nothing of it, Darling. With your tastes, I knew you’d look nothing less than remarkable.”

Both of their heads turned at the sudden sound of knocking at her door, and Niamh looked briefly to the other woman, who merely offered an understanding smile. Clearly her throat, Niamh then called for her guest to enter, and she heard the door unlatch itself in answer to her call before the sound of steps made their way up the stairs. Varric soon made his presence known, but he blinked in apparent surprise to find that she wasn’t alone in her quarters.

“Ah. Sorry.” He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Not at all.” Lady Vivienne nodded to her graciously before departing. “You know where to find me if needed, Darling.”

“Fancy new threads you got there, Inquisitor,” Varric quipped with blithe humor once they were alone, causing her to roll her eyes.

“Really, Varric, there’s no need for such formalities in small conversations like these,” Niamh insisted, seating herself on the couch along the wooden balustrade. Although she gestured toward the open cushion next to her, her companion kindly waved off the invitation, apparently preferring to stand for the time being.

“This won’t take long, Niamh. Listen, about this Corypheus... I sent a message to an old friend of mine—one who has experience with what we’re dealing with.”

Her brows rose incredulously. “Truly?”

It hadn’t been that long ago that she had gathered her War Council for a meeting to discuss their enemy properly. They had little to go on, save for the events she had seen in the future. His delusions of grandeur aside, Corypheus had enough resources in the form of Samson and his Red Templars to pose a significant threat to Empress Celene and the Orlesian Empire. Thus, if left unchecked, he could easily conquer the entirety of southern Thedas. Of Corypheus himself, however, there was frustratingly little known of him thus far—a fact that had irritated both Leliana and Dorian to no end. 

It was still relatively early in the search, however, so she could only hope some needed information would surface. If Varric had a companion who could aid in that fact, she’d gladly welcome it. When his smile twisted into something of an awkward grimace, what relief she felt stagnated with sudden growing uncertainty.

“She’s… actually crossed paths with him before and may know more about what he’s doing,” he admitted, “but she _can_ help.”

“Well.” Niamh frowned, unsure what to make of his hesitant behavior. “I’m not one to turn away aid if it’s offered sincerely. Would you care to introduce us then?”

“Sure. She’s already here, but…” He looked around her quarters carefully, as if wary of someone barging in on their conversation, which didn’t bolster her confidence regarding it. “We should probably take the stairs in the garden up to the battlements. We won’t run into much foot traffic that way. In fact, the less people that know, the better.”

She arched a brow, waiting for further elaboration.

“It’s complicated!”

* * *

“You know, Inquisitor,” [the woman across from her began,](https://morganaseren.tumblr.com/post/632445990059835393) scrutinizing her thoroughly, “with all this talk constantly circulating about you, I somehow thought you’d be taller.” Dark brows rose, the scarred groove along one of her guest’s crystal blue eyes pulling oddly with the gesture. She grinned in amusement then, causing yet another scar to dance along the edge of her lower lip. “You’re barely on par with my little sister in that regard.”

Niamh normally didn’t care for such comments—especially from someone who was otherwise a stranger to her—and although she knew of Emrys Hawke’s reputation distantly through Varric’s novels, there was a steady, roguish warmth behind her words, which cut through any remarks she mistook for more than bark. The warrior’s tall, imposing stature belied the jovial nature presented to her, and it soothed any irritation Niamh might have felt.

Her heart clenched momentarily with a familiar pang when she was briefly reminded of Saoirse’s own playfulness toward her, but she masked it, offering up a small smile to the other woman instead. 

“I never gave it much thought, Champion.”

“Hm.” Hawke’s grin became a little more lopsided with the remark, but it didn’t quite reach the cool blue of her eyes. “I suppose I can’t really call myself a Champion anymore, given I abandoned the city I was entrusted to protect.” 

“With what happened there, I would think that understandable.”

“It would entirely depend on whom you’re discussing the matter with, I’d imagine. At any rate,” she mused distractedly as she straightened in place, armored plating clangling subtly as she made her over to the stone railing, “I doubt that was the only conversation you wished to have with me.”

Niamh watched—fascinated—as the humor slowly bled out of the eyes keenly watching the fortress gate, where a few of Cullen’s Templars were meandering about. Gauntleted fingertips drummed an almost inaudible tune against a bracered forearm as she studied them, and Niamh understood instantly that this was more in line with the diplomatic warrior Varric had written about in his novels—the one capable of aiding those in need for little more than the satisfaction of a simple noble deed done. However, it didn’t dismiss Hawke’s utter prowess in battle if the tales of her slaying a qunari Arishok in one-on-one combat was any indication. That she had also unflinchingly contested the entirety of the Kirkwall’s Templar Order once their lyrium-maddened Knight-Commander had been defeated spoke well of her skills.

She had no doubt Hawke was a loyal ally to those who knew her closely, but—like Niamh—she could also be the absolute bane of one’s existence were anyone to suffer the misfortune of making an enemy of her. 

“Varric mentioned that you both fought Corypheus before.”

The other woman nodded firmly. “We did. Fought _and_ killed, mind you. We weren’t even really looking for him at the time, truthfully, but assassination attempts on both me and my sister by the dwarven Carta led us to an old Grey Warden fortress of sorts where he was being held. He…” Hawke worked her jaw over in apparent distaste of an old memory. “Corypheus somehow used his connection over the darkspawn to influence the Wardens there.”

That fact alone was alarming, and her brows drew together in deep concern. “Every single one of them?”

“Not all,” she admitted. “There seemed to be two separate factions fighting against one another, but it doesn’t change the fact that Corypheus was able to subjugate enough of them into doing his bidding.”

Niamh hummed, retreating inwardly for a moment as she tried to recall several reports from weeks past. “That… would actually make sense with what we’ve been observing thus far. My Spymaster mentioned that entire groups of Grey Wardens were disappearing across Thedas, but we didn’t know the reason as to why until now.”

“Then we’re aiming for the likelihood that they could have fallen under Corypheus’ control again.” 

“You mentioned earlier, however, that you killed him?” There was no incredulity in her question; as such, she didn’t feel any tension as Hawke unerringly glanced at her out of the corner of her eye, offering her own answer calmly in return.

“I assure you, he was as dead as dead could be. We had no reason to suspect he could return to wreak havoc in such a way, but make no mistake: his presence is a very much a direct threat against the Wardens. A group of them as an invading force under his command would prove a nightmare for any nation.” She paused then, and Niamh was mildly surprised to see those eyes filled with sympathy as she turned to face her fully. “I apologize. For a moment, I’d forgotten you’ve your own past with them, given…”

 _Ah._ Her lips lifted briefly into a bittersweet smile. “Given how my own legacy is indirectly tied with theirs, you mean?” She shook her head, releasing a heavy sigh. “Your concern is kind, but I know I can’t think solely of myself in this. Much as I would like to put my sister’s legend to rest, I cannot do so while this type of threat exists.” 

The Grey Wardens were indeed formidable. 

Prior to her sister becoming one, she had always known Saoirse to be a warrior beyond compare, but by consuming the darkspawn blood needed to join the ranks of such an order, her natural abilities had been enhanced to such a degree that it was almost… unnerving. Thankfully, her good humor had never faded throughout it all—tired though Niamh knew she was at times. Even in their last few days together, Saoirse had never wavered in offering her and their companions strength in the idea that they would see the final battle through. _Even if you still neglected to save yourself in the end..._

Sound returned to Niamh slowly like waves ebbing away from the shore as she came out of her thoughts. She was speaking before she even realized her own lips had moved. “If the Wardens have been indoctrinated into working for our enemy, do you think the effect might be reversible?” 

“Difficult to say, Your Grace. The ones I fought against back then certainly didn’t hesitate in their desire to kill both me and my companions. We’d need to know more first. I’ve a friend in the Wardens—Stroud. He was investigating something unrelated for me, but…” Hawke shrugged, the spike-like pauldrons over her shoulders clanking with the motion. “Last we spoke, he was concerned of corruption within the Warden ranks. I’ve heard nothing from him since then.”

“Is there any chance he could have fallen under Corypheus’ influence?”

Niamh made a mental note to contact Alistair when she could. Nothing had seemed out of the ordinary when she had seen him in Redcliffe nor did any of their recent correspondence with one another—amusing though they were—seemed to indicate anything might have been amiss. Circumstances could have changed, however; it never hurt to be careful. 

“Doubtful. He told me he’d be hiding out in an old smuggler’s cave in Crestwood if I needed to get in contact with him. I could certainly use the extra help in finding him at any rate. It’s been years since I’ve been back in Ferelden.”

“About as long as I have, I imagine.” Niamh smiled briefly, but her curiosity regarding an earlier statement reared its head. She arched a brow in question. “You mentioned that your Warden friend was investigating something for you?”

Hawke nodded. “The Templars in Kirkwall were using a strange kind of lyrium—red instead of the usual blue. I had hoped the Wardens could tell me more about it. The last foe I faced who relied on such a substance nearly massacred everyone in her madness.”

“You had reason to be concerned,” she assured. “Corypheus had Templars with him when he attacked Haven, and they looked like they’d been exposed to the lyrium you described.”

“Damn it all…” The other woman carded a hand through her hair in agitation. It seemed she hadn’t wanted any part in this mess anymore than Niamh did. Her jaw was taut as she clenched her teeth, but the tension was released in a brief sigh. “Well, with any luck, Stroud might hopefully know more.”

“I appreciate your help in the matter in any case.”

“I’m doing this as much for myself as for you. Corypheus is my responsibility. I thought I killed him before. This time, I’ll make sure of it.” It looked like she’d been ready to say more, but as she caught movement down in the courtyard, the somberness in her expression seemed to fade in the light of gradual mischief. “But please do excuse me for the time being, Inquisitor. We’ll talk again soon,” she said before hastily making her way toward a set of stairs.

Bemused, Niamh looked over the stone railing to see what could’ve possibly caught the other woman’s attention so fiercely. She had her answer when she saw Bethany leading her young charges down below. Amusement filled her when she saw Hawke slowly creeping up behind them, allowing herself as much stealth as she could with the bulk of her armor. She couldn’t stop her laughter when Hawke then proceeded to pick up her sister from behind. Bethany immediately yelped in surprise as she was promptly lifted off her feet and twirled about, but the sound turned to laughter when she saw who had her, especially as Hawke proceeded to hold her in a playful bridal carry. Niamh was just barely able to catch the faintest hints of their conversation. 

“And how is my favorite little sister in all Thedas?”

“I’m your _only_ little sister...” Bethany then pushed at her sibling’s chestplate. “Now put me down.”

“No reason why you still can’t be my favorite,” Hawke replied reasonably, her grin apparent even from a distance. “And are you implying that _I_ —a warrior elite—am somehow incapable of holding you? Why, I’ll have you know—Hey!” 

Niamh watched as the children all then excitedly crowded around the two women, an abundance of small hands soon grasping at what bits of armor that they could find, bringing the mighty warrior to her knees. Hawke allowed all of this, her laughter echoing all the way up to the battlements, especially as Rebel joined in on the ruckus. The mabari barked enthusiastically, unsatisfied until his mistress was within distance for him to cover her face in affectionate licks. 

Varric—who had otherwise been silent throughout their conversation beyond introducing the two women to one another—suddenly cursed next to her, and she turned to him in question. He kept his gaze on another figure down below, and she followed it curiously to see Cassandra had paused in mid-sword swing against a training dummy as she eyed the very public reunion. 

He sighed then. “So much for keeping a low profile...”

She blinked before a few puzzle pieces began to slide together in her mind. Although both Varric and Cassandra were part of her inner circle, their relationship was a reluctant one at best, especially given the fact he'd been interrogated by the Seeker following the rebellion in Kirkwall. Knowing how intense the other woman could be—especially if she felt she was being misled—she didn’t envy Varric once Cassandra confronted him for this.

“You may want to talk to her sooner rather than later,” she advised gently. “The longer she waits to hear from you, the more upset she’s likely to be.”

“I know, but I think I might grab a drink from Cabot first though. Liquid courage and all that.”

Niamh chuckled. “Understandable.” She returned her attention below, and she found herself smiling when she saw a few of the smaller children pulling at Hawke’s hands, who had to stoop somewhat to follow after them as she was led down toward the stables. The others followed after them with Bethany and Rebel walking at a more leisurely pace behind them all. “She’s… not quite what I imagined her to be.”

Varric snorted. “I think they’ll be saying the same of you in a few years, Bright Eyes.”

“Not if you neglect in writing it.”

“Now where would the fun in that be?”

* * *

Cassandra shifted uncomfortably on her feet in front of Lady Cousland, who was seated behind her desk, quietly reprimanding her. Following her confrontation with Varric in the armory, where she had accused him of hiding Hawke’s whereabouts, the other woman had interrupted them both. 

She supposed she hadn’t realized how vocal their argument had been until then. 

Nevertheless, the other woman had wasted little time in separating them before requesting her presence in her quarters at Cassandra’s earliest convenience. The words were given cordially enough, but Cassandra had caught the steel in the Inquisitor’s eyes as she left thereafter. 

Even now, she still felt the effect of them as the woman spoke. 

“He has a right to protect those he cares about. Were I in his position, I would have done the same.”

“But, surely, if anyone could have saved the Most Holy, it would have been the Champion!” 

“Had Hawke actually been present at The Conclave, she either would have been the one to bear the Anchor in my stead or she would have outright died in the ensuing explosion.” Lady Cousland paused to wet the tip of her quill briefly to sign a few letters that required her attention from their ambassador. Once the ink was dry, it was moved to a neatly-stacked pile of papers, which was steadily growing as she read over the contents of another message. “Of what Varric’s told me of her thus far, Hawke likely would have had no reason to cooperate with the Inquisition—not after what she dealt with in Kirkwall with both the Templar Order and the Chantry in general. Her pro-mage stance was hardly a secret even after the rebellion.”

Cassandra scowled, folding her arms over her chest. “A rebellion that only began due to an act of wanton destruction.” 

Lady Cousland sighed. “[I won’t deny the destruction of Kirkwall’s chantry was an utter travesty,](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tb2zy57MgDA) but you neglect to see that the Annulment would have punished everyone within that Circle regardless of their innocence. Both methods were merely two sides of the same coin, but the result still would have been the same. War would have happened regardless. A mage healer simply ignited the fuel that was already there.”

She frowned. “Do you condone that mage’s actions then, Inquisitor?”

It hadn’t been meant to be a taunt. 

It had been a question, but it left her mouth more like an accusation, and she recognized her mistake the moment the quill in Lady Cousland’s hand immediately paused mid-stroke. With the action came a chill that fell upon the air like a veil, which caused her breath to briefly fog the air before the sensation passed like a summer’s breeze. 

“You weren’t even aware of it, were you?”

“What?”

“Did you truly not know that I knew Anders?” Lady Cousland questioned, a frown of her own forming. “You do realize I was part of Ferelden’s Circle prior to the Blight, don’t you? Did your reports not tell you he had also been a part of it before his escape? I knew him for years, Seeker, so yes, I would like to think I have a better understanding of his motives than you or any of your colleagues would.” Realizing the conversation ahead of them required a great deal more of her attention, the woman settled her quill back in its metal holder before leaning back fully in her chair. 

“Anders was in Kirkwall for nearly a decade, earnestly offering his aid as a healer to those whom others would have often overlooked. Thus, I don’t believe his actions were of a notion that suddenly developed overnight. As far as Circles went, Kirkwall’s own was certainly infamous. Perhaps I can understand a bit of his frustration along with his desperation to draw attention to an injustice that others willfully chose to ignore, so, no, I don’t condone his actions. His were not what I would have chosen myself, but that doesn’t mean his message was any less true. He merely exposed the matter for all the world to see.” A gloved hand reached out to take the half-filled teacup occupying a space on the desk. Upon momentarily sampling it, however, Lady Cousland then frowned and snapped her fingers over the porcelain vessel, and Cassandra watched—amazed—as steam soon wafted off the liquid within.

“Rather than punish merely the sole perpetrator, however, the Knight-Commander demanded to put all the mages within Kirkwall's Circle to death despite them having played no part in the rebellion until they were forced to.” She paused briefly to wet her palate with tea before continuing with her thoughts. “Even you wouldn’t be shackled by simple compliance were your own life in danger, Seeker. Do you blame them for trying to protect themselves against the men and women who never saw them as people to begin with?”

“Of course not, but there should have been other opportunities for them to voice their displeasure!”

“Yet, you and your own order found their claims so unworthy that you didn’t so much as lift a finger to police the Templar presence in Kirkwall. The Annulment didn’t need to happen any more than the rebellion did, but enough of the Chantry’s system was so flawed that it couldn’t have possibly hoped to prevent the chaos that befell the organizations beneath its long-held tyranny.” Lady Cousland shook her head. “A heavy hand of the law is not a just one if it would willingly choose to ignore the innocents caught in the crossfire.”

Cassandra only had silence to offer, and in response, the other woman took up her quill again to continue writing. The fine-tipped point scratching lightly against the parchment paper was the only sound that filled the room for several moments before Lady Cousland spoke again.

“Do you regret casting your vote in my favor now?” she asked quietly. “I’m sure you’d have preferred my late sister to lead your cause or perhaps even the Champion. Warriors alike—not a mage like me.”

“No.” Cassandra sighed in admittance. “You’re right: the Champion never would have rallied to us, and I don’t believe that the Warden—” She paused immediately, knowing she’d be overstepping her bounds to bring up an opinion of a woman she had never met, especially to one of the few individuals who knew her best.

Still, even were that not the case, Cassandra had doubts the elder Cousland would have allied easily with them even with Leliana’s presence. As her colleague had once told her, religion had never played a part in the Warden’s motivations despite being raised Andrastian. 

As such, the Warden never would've agreed with the institution that had stolen a part of her family away from her any more than Hawke had. It was for that very reason that Hawke looked upon her with such latent hostility in her eyes when they had crossed paths earlier in the courtyard, never hesitating to put the bulk of her armored body between her sister and the children whenever they walked through an area filled with Templars and soldiers. 

_“You people have done enough to her.”_

Cassandra grimaced upon recalling Varric’s words as he departed the armory. 

“Seeker, even you have to realize people were likely to die in Kirkwall even if Anders had done nothing,” Lady Cousland added. “While I wasn’t in the city at the time, I heard inklings of how the Knight-Commander had already sent word to Val Royeaux for an Annulment, and that was _well_ before Anders destroyed the chantry. Even before that, Grand Cleric Elthina had been warned to leave the city by Leliana herself, and given our Spymaster’s clear sentiment regarding my people, I imagine it had to do with the fact she knew that the Grand Cleric was more in danger of the institution they were both sworn to serve than the mages themselves.” Cassandra spotted the tension in the woman’s jaw as she worked it over pensively. “Honestly, an Exalted March upon a single city is rather much. Would you have found the deaths of an entire city by thousands of Chantry soldiers in full regalia to be more acceptable than the ones that had occurred in the rebellion?”

Horrified, Cassandra could only stare at her, mouth agape. “They wouldn’t have—”

“And were a significant amount of people not killed in the previous Exalted Marches?” she asked solemnly in turn. “Do you not understand what the Chantry has reduced an entire race to? Do you also not see that the institution you serve is very same one that has made my people little more than cattle to be traded off to other Towers on a whim or be conscripted into wars we never asked to be part of? We have no say in the matter whatsoever—not when the alternatives are either abuse or Tranquility. I’m not an elf, and so I cannot speak of the transgressions they’ve faced across the ages, but I _do_ understand a history of oppression. At some point, when death is the only option left in a bid for peace, you cannot be surprised when those very individuals decide that enough is enough and choose to fight back.”

Although the words were in direct opposition of her own, Cassandra couldn’t bring herself to be angry over them. Not when the other woman painted her words so vividly. Cassandra could see the truth within them—reluctant though she was to admit it. Somehow, however, it was made all the worse that Lady Cousland never once raised her voice to make a point throughout their conversation.

She hadn't needed to. 

Her answers were always delivered with the same calm eloquence she exuded in their War Council meetings, and the warrior found herself easily outmatched. 

“Seeker, I can even understand if you found fault in my decision to seek out the mages in sealing the Breach, but if I had thought the Templars would have listened instead of killing me outright for simply being a mage, I would not have objected to an alliance. Unfortunately, none of the evidence I had on hand at the time led me to believe otherwise.” She wet the tip of her quill again. “Regardless of what you may think of me, however, bear in mind I don’t make any of my decisions lightly. That you feel otherwise is perhaps something that requires your personal introspection—not mine. Good day, Seeker.”

And as the other woman turned her attention back entirely to the messages before her, Cassandra knew she had been dismissed.

* * *

It had been nearly a fortnight since Niamh had been appointed Inquisitor, but following it, her interactions with Leliana had been minimal at best. She knew the other woman was likely adjusting to her new position, especially as Josie introduced her to the more diplomatic matters required of her, but…

Leliana sighed, remembering the look of utter hurt and betrayal in Niamh’s eyes when it became clear what her and Cassandra’s combined intent had been. Niamh had looked to her with the desperate hope that she might save her from this, but she had no choice but to turn her silent plea away. 

It had always been evident that Niamh never wanted the title as Andraste’s Herald to begin with, especially as it saddled her to a religious doctrine she had long disagreed with. Just as with Saoirse, faith had never been a factor which drove Niamh toward her goals; it had been her own determination and need to help those she could. 

She had tried to speak to Niamh again following the ceremony, but their last conversation had been a brittle one at best.

* * *

_“The me that exists in this moment will be a ghost compared to whatever fictitious propaganda the Chantry decides to impart upon their followers,” Niamh had said once Leliana followed her back to her quarters, hoping to repair the damage that had been done. “They will use my name to persecute my people.”_

_“You don’t know that. This isn’t the same world of ages past.”_

_Niamh immediately looked up from where she had sat on the bed with her head buried in her hands, and there was no mistaking the flash of lightning across her eyes as she outright glared at her. “They used an Exalted March to drive an entire people into the ground, Leliana! Mages may as well be beasts by how such an institution looks down upon us!”_

_“Niamh,” she pleaded gently, “if there had been any other way I could have foreseen you accepting the role of Inquisitor, I would have used it.” Leliana reached out to her in placation, but the other woman merely straightened in place, purposely pulling herself out of range of her touch. Niamh frowned then._

_“And that’s just it, Leliana. You deliberately used your knowledge of me to do this,” Niamh stated, and the sudden wariness she saw in those pale eyes cut more than any dagger she had ever suffered. Leliana stilled herself, respecting her friend’s need for distance even as she continued on in her thoughts despite the evident exhaustion in her voice. “You intentionally put me into a position where you knew I couldn’t refuse. How could I when met with the faces of so many within our company? To deny the role of Inquisitor was to deny them everything,” she said sullenly, running a hand through her hair. “I could have understood if the Seeker was the only one to approach me about this, but you?” Niamh huffed a small, incredulous laugh. “Leliana, you know me better than anyone else here. In all my years, you’re still easily the most clever woman I’ve ever met, but in deciding to go through with this whole charade, for a moment—no matter your intention—you saw me not as a friend but as a pawn to be played.”_

_And it was then that Leliana—stunned—understood the terrible truth of those words._

_Prior to the ceremony, the remaining members of their War Council had agreed the person most suited to lead them was indeed Niamh. Even Cullen—despite his contentious past with the woman—had offered no rebuttal against the idea as he firmly gave his vote. Everything that occurred after that decision, however, had been of her own machinations._

_Leliana had told herself at the time that it had been necessary, especially given the number of mages who now filled the ranks of the Inquisition. She knew there were few individuals they would’ve easily accepted to command them, and as the Herald of Andraste, there were even fewer beyond their organization that Thedas would have acknowledged in such a seat of coveted power._

_This had been the easiest way to achieve both ends, but in determining that, she had unintentionally—and perhaps even irrevocably—broken the foundations of an old friendship she had slowly been restoring with Niamh._

_“I know you want to apologize, but this is still too fresh a wound for me to forget.” Wearily, Niamh sighed and looked away from her. “I’m sorry, but for now, I ask that you give me the time and space to think this over.”_

* * *

But in the days following that incident, Leliana’s mood had turned foul, and her various agents had been able to pick up on that fact, for there had been few occasions where their employer’s patience was so remarkably finite. As such, they quickly learned to make themselves scarce whenever she didn’t require their presence. 

At any other time, she might’ve enjoyed the rare moment of solitude within her rookery, but it seemed that fate wouldn’t leave her to her own devices for long. Leliana heard the heavy footfalls—so distinct from the near silent steps of her spies—coming up the stairs, and as a shadow fell over her desk, she could determine the figure’s identity without having to even look up from her reports.

“May I help you, Cassandra?” she asked apathetically.

“...She doesn’t like me.”

“I _did_ tell you that Niamh would have been more receptive to Josie delivering the news of her official appointment.”

“It’s more than that, Leliana!” Cassandra growled. “Lady Cousland and Lady Vivienne don’t necessarily see eye to eye regarding the mages, but she’s still at least asked to accompany her now and again!” 

That was indeed true.

Leliana had noticed that save for their time in Val Royeaux together—when Niamh’s party had consisted of just Cassandra, Solas, and Varric—the warrior had never been asked to accompany the mage again. Despite her skills and her accomplishments, it wasn’t enough that her presence be requested, and that fact likely rankled her colleague to no end.

“She doesn’t mind warriors, Cassandra. Her sister—” She gripped her ink quill more tightly than she should have, but she continued on unheeded. “—was one after all, and Niamh has little issue with Blackwall or The Iron Bull, and one would think the latter more questionable, given his ties with the Qun. As far as I knew her then and now, she’s never been one to judge others based off their religious beliefs alone so long as they weren’t using them to willingly harm another.”

When she glanced up from her reports for the first time since their conversation began, she only saw Cassandra gazing back at her dourly. Knowing the utter stubbornness of her counterpart, Leliana merely sighed. 

“You want to be useful just as I’m sure she always wanted to be seen as more than a second-class citizen.”

“I wasn’t—”

“No?” was Leliana’s immediate, sharp retort. “Then you and Cullen constantly second-guessing her actions regarding the mages prior to our arrival here was done to endear you both to her? Cassandra, if nothing else, even you have to admit that your introduction to one another was volatile at best.”

Cassandra’s nature had always led to her reacting first. It was the quality of a good soldier—a good warrior—to be able to think quickly on one’s feet, but for interpersonal relationships such as the more cordial one she now wished to forge with Niamh, it was… less than ideal, especially given the abundant evidence that the mage rarely made it easy to return to her good graces afterward.

“I know you meant well by wanting to be the one to announce her position officially as a peace offering, but this isn’t something that can be changed with a rallying cry and the acknowledgement of her as your leader. Give her time to actually know you.” She paused then, mulling something over. “If it’s any consolation, I do believe you’re in a better position than our Commander to mend ties with her.”

Leliana watched as Cassandra stiffened in disbelief. Despite her lack of grace in more subtle matters, it seemed she hadn’t been oblivious to the quiet antipathy Niamh often reserved for Cullen. 

“In our past conversations regarding her, do you recall that I said Niamh was a mage from Ferelden’s Circle before she essentially disappeared? Cullen had also been stationed there, and they had known one another for years. Not long after the Blight began, however, an incident occurred that left many of his companions dead while he himself had been imprisoned by the very people he had sworn to oversee. He had witnessed the brutality of the mages—ones who had resorted to blood magic—and for the misdeeds of the few, he wanted them all dead.” She pursed her lips at the memory.

“Niamh was present when he said that, and it shook her trust in him completely—even moreso when he later drew his sword upon her with the clear intent to harm.” She looked up when she saw Cassandra avert her gaze, unease evident in her posture as she likely recalled the incident where she had done the same. “She was heartbroken that despite an otherwise cordial friendship—” Although Cullen had certainly desired more if his delirious raving back then was to be believed. “—it was enough that he demanded she die simply because he felt he knew better. To him, a single mage was one too many to leave alive if it meant ridding the Tower of the maleficarum threat. It didn’t matter if those mages had stood with the Templars or our party then; it was still a risk he couldn’t abide.”

Cassandra’s brows furrowed. “Why did you never tell me this?”

“Would it have mattered?” she asked in turn, arching a brow. “Would it have truly made you reconsider your perceptions of her, or would her being a mage been all you saw? Niamh is a woman of many facets just as anyone else, Cassandra, but too often do people hear the word ‘mage’ and seek to fear her when all she’s ever done is try to help.” A heavy sigh fell from her lips. “While I admit our Commander’s changed to some degree, you must also consider Niamh has been watched by Templars during the many formative years of her life. While you are not one, you are similar enough that she needs space to see that you mean well and that your concerns aren’t so simple as knee-jerk reactions to what she is. You, however, also need to see that her willingness to help other mages is not meant as a way to usurp an authority she’s known all her life. You know the discrimination they’ve always faced. Niamh has never been an impulsive woman; there is always reason to her actions.” 

“You’re... protective of her.”

“She was my companion once, and we were close. I’d like to believe we still are, but life has also hurt her, and it left considerable scars in its wake.”

It was clear that Niamh’s years in the Circle had long damaged her ideas of self-worth—so much so that the woman couldn’t see how remarkable she truly was. How could she have? Wynne’s own teachings had taught her she’d be reviled if she offered anything less than absolute obedience to the Chantry, and with the tragic incident at Kinloch Hold, she’d learned from Cullen that—no matter her kindness—the best of intentions would always be questioned. 

Even after the Blight, the world had held on to its deep prejudices against mages even though three women of such power had also stood alongside the late Hero of Ferelden. Leliana could still recall the memory of a late-night conversation along Haven’s lake some months ago, where Niamh had revealed the origins of one of her scars. The woman’s abilities had apparently earned her nothing but scorn in all the time she’d been away, and she’d been forced to hide the magic that was so innately a part of her.

Was it any wonder that Niamh now saw the world through such a jaded lens of stark pragmatism? 

How could she see all that she had to offer when the pressures of society had long shattered the mirror in which she viewed herself? That Leliana had also contributed to one of those fragmented pieces was a point of shame for her.

In a kinder world, Leliana couldn’t help but wonder just how much more brilliantly Niamh could have shined. Freed from discrimination and the shackles of obligation, would compassion still have flowed from her like an endless pool? Would her confidence been more than a mere mask that she presented before others? 

Leliana clenched her fist when she recalled the impassivity of the other woman’s features as she hoisted the ceremonial sword over her head upon being declared Inquisitor. The masses below had assumed such solemnity was a result of the reverence their Herald had for the position offered to her. In reality, Niamh had been terrified—both in what was expected of her and of what consequences would be brought down upon her people’s heads if she failed in their continued fight against Corypheus. 

The world had already taken so much from Niamh, and in doing so, it had also broken the woman who used to smile so easily.

* * *

“Oh. Oh! It’s _you!”_

Niamh blinked at the sudden outburst from the woman before her. When she received word that their new arcanist had finally arrived, she had made her way down into the fortress’ undercroft to properly greet her. It seemed, however, their meeting was to be more of a reintroduction.

“Oh, wait! You probably don’t even remember who I am. I mean…” The dwarven woman paused as she considered when they’d last met, and she scratched at her temple in thought. “Wow, has it really been ten years? Granted, we were underground and everything, and the lightning down in Orzammar was never as bright as anything I’ve seen here on the surface, but still—”

“You’re Dagna, yes?” she asked, humor interlacing itself within her voice even as she hoped to curtail another tangent in the conversation the other woman clearly wanted to have with her. The corner of her lips still turned up into a smile, however, especially when it became evident that Dagna was still as excitable as when she’d seen her last. _Some things never change, I suppose._

Dagna’s eyes widened comically before delight soon filled her expression. “You _do_ remember me! Oh, this is so exciting! I’d always hoped that I’d run into you again! It was thanks to your letter of recommendation to First Enchanter Irving that I was able to begin my studies in magic to begin with!”

“Who was I to deny a budding scholar? In any case, I hope my former colleagues treated you well there.” Given the fact that dwarves couldn’t innately perform magic, Niamh had been concerned Dagna would have faced some ridicule regarding the matter despite her clear earnest.

“Oh, absolutely! I know you told me you were a member of the Circle back then, but I had no idea how popular you were until I mentioned your name!” She sighed wistfully, recalling what appeared to be rather fond memories. “You made such a huge difference in my life, and studying there opened so many new doors for me! I mean, I was later able to write this whole comprehensive theory into how lyrium vapors relate to the supply of magic, and—”

“Dagna. Dagna!” Niamh urged, laughter spilling out of her more easily as she tried to regain her attention. “I’m very glad I was able to help you. Perhaps you’d be able to do the same for me now however?”

“Oh. Sure!” she agreed cheerily. “It would be my honor to return the favor! What can I do for you, Inquisitor?”

Niamh suppressed a sigh, knowing that she’d have to grow accustomed to her new title sooner rather than later. “Well, I’m in need of a new staff.”

“Ah.” Dagna nodded sagely. “Because you already broke the other three Harritt made you?”

Her brows furrowed, immediately taken aback by the statement. “I… What? The first time wasn’t even my fault!” she argued plaintively. “I was caught in an explosion, and then the incident following that was caused by a cult leader who managed to anger me.”

“And the third time?”

“I was fighting against a darkspawn magister—of all things—along with what could very well have been his personal Archdemon,” she deadpanned. Niamh arched a brow. “That I only managed to lose my staff in all that might as well be a blessing.”

Dagna bit her lip, but from the mirth in her eyes, it was clear she was trying to stifle her laughter. “Fair enough! The good news is that I can craft runes for you now, so that should help things from warping out of place again. I mean, Harritt does good work, but sometimes you need a bit more finesse, y’know?”

Harritt cleared his throat loudly in the background—the sound one of sheer indignation.

“Not that I meant that in a bad way or anything!” she amended to him before returning her attention to Niamh. “For a mage of your caliber though, we need to get you something with a little oomph.”

“Well, I’m open to suggestions.”

“Hm. Well, let’s talk about weight first. Harritt’s told me that the past staves you’ve commissioned from him were notoriously heavy for some reason.”

Niamh shrugged. “Out of habit than anything else. When I went into hiding years ago, I didn’t want anyone to suspect I was a mage, so I needed something similar in appearance like a polearm. Given recent events, however—”

Dagna snorted, waving a hand dismissively as she giggled. “Yeah. No use trying to put _that_ needle in a haystack again.”

“—Something lighter would be appreciated,” Niamh finished dryly. “We’ve settled ourselves enough here that I feel comfortable heading out on missions again, but I wanted a new staff made before I do so.”

“Understandable. Any ideas on what designs or adornments you want yet?”

"Hm..." Niamh tapped a crooked finger against her bottom lip in brief consideration before turning her attention to Dagna again. “If I gave you a sketch along with the necessary materials, would you be able to work with it?”

The other woman merely pressed a hand emphatically over her own heart. “From one artist to another, I’ll put every last bit of my skill into making sure this won’t be a staff you lose anytime soon.”

“I thank you for the vote of confidence…”

* * *

“Come in.”

At the call, Cassandra steeled herself and opened the door leading up into Lady Cousland’s quarters. Given the last conversation they had together here several days ago, she had enough reason for her sudden bout of nervousness. Just as before, she could see that the other woman was seated behind her desk, tending to various missives. Given the late hour, however, her formal jacket had been draped across the back of her chair, leaving her in a simple undershirt, where the sleeves had been rolled neatly up to her elbows. It had perhaps been the first time she had seen the wiry cords of muscles so evident in the woman’s forearms as she continued writing. Much of the attire Lady Cousland favored never revealed much of her body, but from the widely-loosened ties at the vee of her shirt—teasing at the cleavage there—it seemed modesty hadn’t been an issue in that decision. Firelit grey eyes turned to look up then, and the sound of the quill gliding across the parchment stopped. 

“Ah, Seeker. How may I help you this evening?” she asked with her typical repose. 

“First, I would like to thank you for allowing me to step down from my duties to the War Council in order to focus on the strange disappearances surrounding the Seekers.”

Lady Cousland nodded graciously. “It seemed to be a matter of great importance to you. Given what we recently learned of the Grey Wardens from Hawke, it was well worth looking into.” She canted her head. “I take it you found something however?”

“Yes.” She moved forward to offer her a handful of reports that had been sent to her, and the other woman proceeded to diligently look over them. “With much of my order now unaccounted for, it allowed for many of the high-profile targets they had been looking into to move about more freely. As expected, however, they’re all exceedingly dangerous. What’s detailed in those letters is merely a summary of all the crimes they’ve committed thus far.”

While it was true the Inquisition's focus still laid with stopping Corypheus, this was an immediate threat to public safety across Ferelden and Orlais. If such criminals were allowed to roam free, there would be no end to the amount of chaos they could cause.

She just had to convince Lady Cousland of the fact. 

Much of their forces at Skyhold had been spread to the outposts they’d established to help gather intel and keep the peace. Thus, Cassandra knew there was a strong likelihood she wouldn’t gain many resources to pursue her current quest, but some was still better than none.

“Based on these reports, one of the renegade Templars will be traveling through the Hinterlands soon,” the other woman mused. “I’ll discuss the matter with Blackwall tomorrow morning regarding party arrangements for the foreseeable future. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind staying behind for a few missions. He mentioned wanting to carve a few things for Lady Bethany’s young charges, and with any luck, Dagna should also be done forging my new staff by then as well.” 

“I realize this deviates from our main goal, but—” Cassandra paused in her speech abruptly as the rest of her mind caught up on what had been said. She had been so focused in presenting her case as convincingly as possible that she hadn’t thought of the possibility Lady Cousland would have so readily agreed to it—let alone decide to join her. “Wait,” she began, dumbfounded. “You… would like to accompany me?”

“Along with a few of our companions, yes. I was already planning on traveling through the area due to a matter that’s been brought to Dorian’s attention. It wouldn’t be any inconvenience to attend to this as well.” Lady Cousland continued reading. “Given your own prowess, I know you’re more than capable of handling this Templar, but given he’s gathered a sizable following, I can’t in good conscience send you off alone to face him.” She flipped to the last page then. “And it seems the rest of these targets have entrenched themselves in various parts of Orlais. We’ve yet to form any outposts there, but I imagine we’ll get the opportunity to do so soon enough once Leliana’s scouts finish their reconnaissance.”

“And…” Cassandra hesitated as she pressed forward with her question. “You’ve already read of the apostates in those reports?”

Lady Cousland hummed in confirmation. “Yes. They seem rather accomplished in their respective abilities, but if they seek to harm others indiscriminately—and you’ve clear proof here that they’ve done so—then I’ve certainly no issue with helping you.” Through with her perusal, she then returned the papers to Cassandra for safe keeping. There was some concern in that pale gaze however. “I hope you don’t think me too forward in offering my assistance, especially given it’s a quest of such a personal matter. I don’t mean you any offense by it certainly.”

“Oh! Not at all, my lady!” Cassandra hastened to reassure. 

If anything, she had been relieved by the offer. After their last in-depth conversation with one another, Cassandra had been concerned her worries regarding this would have been dismissed, and she’d have to see the matter through alone. Lady Cousland, however, had seen the evidence presented to her objectively and instead offered her a better alternative. 

This was far more than Cassandra could have hoped for, and she felt the weight of past fortnight lift off her shoulders upon realizing she had more than ample help now to find these criminals. For a moment, the answer Leliana had given her some years ago regarding her pro-mage sentiments drifted across her mind.

_“I’ve known mages. Some of them were better people than me. And yet I’m free, and they’re not. It’s not right.”_

Cassandra realized that Leliana had likely been speaking of Lady Cousland back then. 

The woman’s kindness and civility was pervasive if others extended her the same courtesy, and she understood then why so many of their companions warmed to her so easily. Cassandra could only hope she was in slightly better standing with her now, and she didn’t envy Cullen in trying to achieve the same, especially given what Leliana had told her of their respective past together. She looked up as Lady Cousland began speaking again.

“Let’s see… Dagna prefers getting an early start on her work, so I’ll check on her progress with my staff first thing tomorrow, and then I'll have to inform my advisors of our impending absence. At any rate, we should be ready to depart by mid-morning at the latest if you’ve no objections?”

“None at all, my lady.” Cassandra bowed her head gratefully. “Thank you again.”

Lady Cousland smiled, picking up her quill again. “Of course. Enjoy the rest of your evening, Seeker.”

* * *

“Leliana?”

Leliana looked up from her desk to see Josie making her way up the stairs. The morning had been relatively quiet across Skyhold thus far after Niamh’s party had left for The Hinterlands. 

“There is a matter I’d like your opinion on,” the other woman continued, offering her a letter for her inspection, and Leliana’s brows rose when she saw it was from their new quartermaster:

_I can ensure instruction for the legions who want to join, but can we expect the Inquisitor to remain a leader while training with a subordinate? She is a figure of inspiration and should rightly be one of aspiration; promoting a specialist from within the ranks seems lacking. With due respect, I recommend looking outside for the best combat specialists to be found. Regardless of their affiliation._

“Trainers for Niamh?” she asked, mild disbelief coloring her voice. “You do realize she’s exceptionally powerful as she is?”

“Of course.” Josie nodded in understanding. “We’ve seen time and again what she’s capable of. Ser Morris, however, does offer a fair point. It wouldn’t hurt to see her specialize her gifts further, especially if she’s an interest in the idea. Madame de Fer _did_ mention Lady Cousland was the one who asked her about requesting Knight-Enchanter forces to help train the mages after all.”

That was certainly true. If Niamh sought to follow a similar path, she had several instructors to choose from in that regard, but as Leliana thought the matter over, she wondered if the woman actually would. 

Although the mage was still adept in close-quarters combat—she had seen Niamh and Commander Helaine strike impressive counterblows with their staves in sparring matches before—Leliana knew she had a preference in keeping her distance on the battlefield. It served Niamh’s tactical mind well to see the larger picture presented before her than to try and do the same within the midst of chaos, and as their strategist back then, her instincts had never steered them wrong. 

Of course, when it came to the idea of knowledge in general, Niamh was ever an eternal student, seeking to expand it wherever she could. She had expressed clear interest back then when Morrigan began teaching her the fundamentals in more arcane magic.

“It wouldn’t hurt to offer Niamh some variety in the matter,” Leliana said at last. “With as much recognition as we have now, there should be little trouble in finding other powerful mages who could offer their expertise to her.”

Josie nodded, making a note. “I’ll send word out through my contacts to see what interest I can garner.” 

It would certainly be something for Niamh to look forward to upon her return, and—even if briefly—Josie’s interruption had served as a suitable distraction to her own thoughts as of late. Beneath her cowl, Leliana's gaze fell to the metal cylinder sitting atop her reports. Within it was the information her agents had managed to gather for her thus far—mainly the growing list of names of all those they’d lost at Haven. 

They were good people—proud soldiers and scouts alike—who they wouldn’t have lost if Leliana hadn’t pulled her lookouts away in concern once the first of them had gone missing. It was a mistake that had nearly cost them everything, and Niamh had nearly died for it.

Leliana couldn’t help but think the other woman would find fault within her for such blatant failure, and she felt a sinking sensation inside her begin to grow upon dreading Niamh’s inevitable return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know! I'm sorry! I'm several days off schedule with this, but I was fighting off a cold that made it hard for me to even sit up, which usually means a lot of writing doesn't get involved on my part unfortunately...
> 
> This chapter in particular also doesn't feature very many happy Niamh/Leliana moments either, but I wanted to give them some reasonable space to work with before we get to the reconciliation part. 
> 
> And now that the specialization quest has made an appearance in my story, it's time to place your bets as to what you think Niamh's canon class might be! :D 
> 
> Also... H-how did you all get this over 5100 hits already?! We were barely over 4k in the last update! Omg! I'm blushing, y'all! 
> 
> And if you're not already following me on [Tumblr](https://morganaseren.tumblr.com/), consider bookmarking me if nothing else! That's the quickest way for you to find out when I might be posting a new chapter, new AUs (I don't have one for you all with this update unfortunately...), or even some fun paintings I've had commissioned! 
> 
> I honestly love interacting with my readers, so feel free to post whatever questions and comments you have! I'll always try to do my best to respond to them!


	18. You Don’t Know What I’ve Done

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Niamh tends to some matters in The Hinterlands for the sake of Cassandra and Dorian, and she finally gets a chance to talk to a certain Spymaster following the fallout of their last conversation.

“Clever use of ice spikes back there, Cousland,” Dorian praised while using his own magic to tend to the heat of the fire before them. 

Lady Cousland merely arched a brow as she idly stirred at the cooking pot. “Are you referring to when I used it against the Templar earlier or the fish I caught for our dinner?”

“Yes.”

Grey eyes rolled themselves, but Cassandra could see the faint smile on the other woman’s lips. Still, she couldn’t help but agree with Dorian. Although she had long realized Lady Cousland was a mage of remarkable ability, she utilized her magic in ways she still couldn’t even begin to fathom.

* * *

_It had been some time since she’d been on the field with Lady Cousland._

_They had cleared away much of The Hinterland’s hostile forces—Templars and mages alikes who had gone rogue following the explosion at The Conclave—when they had been here last, and what few enemies they encountered now were stray bands of outlaws, who had quickly been discouraged when they realized just how hopelessly outmatched they were._

_Of course, when they realized whose party they were up against, they had more reason to flee from them following such a humiliating defeat._

_Lady Cousland had reported the brief skirmish to their people stationed at a nearby Inquisition outpost. While the woman was convinced it had been an isolated incident at best—committed by those looking to make some quick coin with petty larceny—it seemed the scouts and soldiers were equally determined not to disappoint their Inquisitor in any manner. They all swore to strengthen their vigilance against any suspicious activity in the area, and Lady Cousland thanked them for their efforts before departing further into The Hinterlands to continue their search._

_In any case, it seemed what enemies and troubles their party encountered were a poor test of their respective abilities. Most could be dispatched with little more than the swipe of a blade or a well-placed, magical attack. In fact, it wasn’t until they came across Ser Rebenger Torn—the renegade Templar they’d been seeking and his followers—that they had even a modicum of a challenge._

_The battle proceeded as expected as she and Cole advanced to meet them head-on while Lady Cousland and Dorian remained at a safe distance to provide both offensive and defensive magic. From there, it was simply a matter of reacquainting herself with the Inquisitor’s tactical ability between her own onslaught of attacks. It was evident there was already a cohesiveness in place between the other woman and the two men, especially given they were constant members of Lady Cousland’s field party._

_They all seemed remarkably attuned to one another, adjusting to the flow of battle with nary a word passing between them._

_After Cole had dispatched one of their enemies, he had backed up a pace to get into position for something beyond her ken, which only became clear as he was launched well over their opponents’ heads with the quickly-conjured ice wall beneath his feet providing clever forward momentum. Once he regained his footing, he was immediately able to attack the flank of the Templars furthest away from Cassandra’s position, and the shimmering barrier that rose around him was courtesy of Dorian from what she could see of the mage’s gesturing from her peripheral vision._

_In comparison, Cassandra was uncertain what Lady Cousland would demand of her beyond simply taking down their enemy’s offensive line, but it seemed the woman was simply adapting to her instead. The barrier around her seemed to be continuous, as it was rebuffed so seamlessly that she couldn’t even recognize when one ended and the other began. In any case, she didn’t need to fear the arrows fired at her as she moved forward to meet another warrior’s sword with her own. If anything, the archers had more to fear when she felt sudden heat of flames dart over her shoulder in response._

_As for her own opponent, his greatsword was a weapon of impressive force as it struck her own one-handed one with such a violent clash that sparks were sent flying across the grass. Although he had the greater advantage in overall size, Cassandra didn’t balk beneath the weight of his sword against her own. If anything, she felt a grin of fierce satisfaction stretching across her lips as she his own expression transitioned from one of smug confidence to slowly-growing disbelief, especially when she began to push him back. With a harsh cry, she used her strength to direct his blade up and away, and as he stumbled back from the loss of momentum, Cassandra followed up with a vicious blow of her shield’s edge against the side of his head, downing him instantly._

_“Seeker, down!”_

_Lady Cousland’s voice was so sharp and urgent compared to her usual subdued one that Cassandra didn’t even question the order. She immediately sank down to one knee, and she felt a familiar chill in the air along with a sound that was akin to a sword being drawn. What followed next was a pained, gurgling gasp, and she looked to her left to see Ser Rebenger—who had been approaching her along her blind spot—looking down in stunned shock at the icicle that had been impaled through his chest._

_Cassandra followed the path of the crystalline spear and found that it had been conjured from the puddle of cooled water beneath her feet. She frowned for a moment—wondering how it had gotten there when there had simply been grass beneath her feet moments before—but then she realized that it had formed when Lady Cousland had melted the ice wall from earlier with her fiery attacks while simultaneously dealing with the archers in the distance._

_The spear jutted out from the ground at an angle just behind Cassandra’s shoulders so that it pierced Ser Rebenger squarely in the chest. That he had only been wearing a simple leather gambeson—their party had taken much of the renegade Templar encampment by surprise—in place of armor meant that he had no real protection against an attack of this nature. His blade tumbled from his suddenly nerveless fingers as a rush of blood fell from his quivering lips._

_Cassandra slowly rose from her crouch, and a quick, cursory glance told her that her companions had dispatched the remaining Templars and were slowly moving to converge on her position. The displacement of the cold air behind her alerted her that Lady Cousland was also approaching her. Cassandra turned to meet her, but she paused mid-motion when Ser Rebenger spat blood and phlegm at her feet, eying her with baleful disgust._

_“You’re a disgrace to your Order," he said, recognizing the heraldry on her chest. "Allowing yourself to be led by that demon… She’s corrupted you. She’s allied all the mages to her, but for what purpose? Do you even know?” he demanded, voice raising even as he coughed heavily with the effort to speak. “You judge me, but you’ve fallen far deeper than I have, Seeker… May the Maker have mercy on your Blighted soul,” he growled, but the sound shifted to a gasp as a muted tapping of a staff point caused the icy spear to simply shatter into soft flakes that disappeared before they even reached the ground. With nothing else holding him up, Ser Berenger then fell to his knees before her._

_Cassandra looked to Lady Cousland then, who was in the process of settling her staff over her back now that the battle was over. If the other woman felt any indignation against the Templar’s insults, nothing showed in her expression. She simply eyed him wordlessly before turning to her. Cassandra gripped the hilt of her sword, waiting for an order, but Lady Cousland simply canted her head minutely._

_“While the others and I are aiding you, this is still very much your quest, Seeker,” she stated gently. “He was the one your Order was looking for, so I defer to your judgment in this. Do what you feel is right.”_

_At those words, Cassandra turned to look at Ser Rebenger again, whose breathing was beginning to grow increasingly labored, eyes already glazing over. He wouldn’t be of their world for much longer, and although there were other targets to be found, he was at least one last danger to worry over._

_She raised her sword high overhead and brought it down sharply._

* * *

Cassandra came out of her thoughts when she heard Dorian speaking again.

“So I understand how you were able to conjure the ice spear against our foe earlier, but how in the world did you manage it with the fish underwater? I expected them to have been encased entirely in one frozen block, but you still managed to spear them out of the stream.”

Cassandra found herself also curious about the matter, and she turned to watch the other woman, who paused briefly in stirring the stew to gather her thoughts. 

“Ah. Well, it’s… Hm.” She frowned. “I suppose I never bothered putting it into words before. With my lightning, I’m simply super-heating the air and condensing it to a fine point. From there, I influence the direction in which that heat moves through the air so that my attack connects with my enemy.” The woman shrugged then. “With ice spears, I’m essentially using the opposite concept by rapidly cooling a very limited area. It’s a trickier task underwater certainly, but I simply use the current already there in lieu of air and fine-tune the direction a bit while simultaneously freezing the altered path to spear the fish.”

Dorian simply dropped his chin into his waiting hand from where he sat by the fire. “Fascinating. Truly, in all my time in Tevinter’s Circles, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a mage implement their skills quite like you do.”

Lady Cousland laughed lightly as she scattered what looked like dried red flakes into the cooking pot. “I had to be a bit creative at times when I was living abroad. As I was constantly moving about, it wasn’t feasible for me to carry more than what I needed. That, and given how much time I spent alone, there simply wasn’t much to do to entertain myself other than experimenting with magic.” After a few brief stirs, she pulled the ladle to her lips to sample the thick broth. She blinked in consideration before nodding. “This should be done now.”

There was a brief sound of clattering as bowls were offered to her, and she portioned off the fish stew to each of them before settling down with her own. Cassandra blew gently at her spoonful of the dish before tasting it, and she was gratified to feel warmth settling back into her bones after walking through The Hinterlands all day. 

“I hope you don’t mind a bit of spice, Seeker,” Lady Cousland said, and Cassandra looked up to see the other woman looking at her curiously. She shook her head.

“Not at all,” she reassured. If anything, it was a cut above the bland fare she’d had since settling into Ferelden. Leliana had once dryly commented that the country as a whole didn’t seem to experiment with spices much, citing a few incidents in particular with King Alistair prior to him taking the throne. Lady Cousland certainly didn’t seem to any such aversion. “Is this your recipe?”

“My aunt’s,” she clarified. “I think she may have picked it up while traveling to either Rivain or Antiva. I had the chance to experiment with the spices a bit more when I was visiting those same countries myself some years ago.” After taking another bite, she looked about briefly for a moment before calling out, “Cole?”

“Yes?”

Cassandra nearly dropped her bowl at the voice from behind her, and she whirled her head about to see the spirit indeed standing there, idly twiddling his thumbs as he stared at Lady Cousland patiently. Cassandra frowned. She still wasn’t used to his presence, and his recruitment into the Inquisitor’s inner circle at all had drawn some contention from more than a few individuals within it, who were uncomfortable of the idea as a whole.

If anything, however, whom the woman allowed into it was a matter of great trust, and Cassandra had already seen evidence that it wasn’t one to be taken lightly. Lady Cousland didn’t seem to care much about one’s affluence, nationality, or even religious beliefs so long as they could perform the tasks asked of them without bias.

Cassandra also noticed the other woman balanced out her party whenever she could, allowing for even numbers of close and long-range expertise while also ensuring the members within it wouldn’t prove too overly… disruptive toward one another.

Although she hadn’t accompanied the Inquisitor onto the field in months, even Cassandra had learned of how little Lady Vivienne and Sera got along after that infamous trip through the Fallow Mire. Thankfully, both women seemed to have come to an agreement to keep such hostilities to a minimum, especially once they realized how much it seemed to upset Lady Cousland. 

Cassandra chewed thoughtfully at some fish then.

The other woman honestly never asked for much from anyone to begin with. 

Nevertheless, Lady Cousland had never paired them together in her party again following that incident. That, and Skyhold’s sprawling grounds were a vast improvement over the limited space Haven had offered. Thus, it seemed Lady Vivienne and Sera had learned to keep their interactions cordial on the rare occasions they did cross paths there.

Or they at least made certain to keep their bickering from reaching Lady Cousland’s ears. Disapproval from her was almost as terrible as receiving it from their ambassador... 

“Did you want to try any of this, Cole?” Lady Cousland asked kindly. 

“Hm.” The young man seemed to consider the matter carefully, tilting his head to and fro before shaking it decisively. “No. Warm. Spiced. The faint taste of the sea. Memories of weathered hands teaching a smaller pair the recipe. Family. A lasting moment to keep for all time before returning to a gilded cage filled with strangers.” He paused then, voice quiet and wistful. “I can tell what it might taste like. It sounds nice.”

“Very well then.”

Cassandra had learned of incidents like these before from others of Lady Cousland’s inner circle. Cole could peer into a person’s deepest memories, and she could certainly see how it could be disconcerting for those on the receiving end of them. Although the other woman hadn’t expressed any discomfort over him using such an ability on her, the memory he described seemed to be quite a sentimental one at heart. It didn’t pick at old injuries that were best left alone. _Family,_ she mused, unconsciously repeating a word Cole had used without really meaning to. 

Then, Cassandra stiffened when Cole turned unerringly toward her, and although she couldn’t see his gaze beneath that ridiculously-large hat of his, she could almost feel his gaze upon her.

“Blueberries?” he asked curiously, and she bristled immediately, understanding which memory he had intruded upon. Before she could reprimand him, however, Lady Cousland’s voice filled the air then.

“Cole, what did I say about peering into our companions’ thoughts?” she asked gently.

“Don’t do so unless they or I ask first?”

She nodded. “The Seeker’s memory seems to be of a rather personal matter. It should be her choice as to whether or not she wishes to reveal it. Now then, do you remember what to do when a person declines the invitation but their thoughts seem too loud to ignore?”

The spirit uttered a small sound of understanding. “Oh. Move myself away until I can no longer hear them.” His hat flopped about as he turned his head back toward her. “Sorry,” he said sincerely.

Cassandra nodded hesitantly, and she found herself momentarily startled again when he simply seemed to blink out of existence before her very eyes.

“He means well,” Lady Cousland said, and Cassandra found that the other woman was faintly smiling at her. “Cole’s not quite used to being around those who remember him so frequently, so he doesn’t always know when he’s overstepping his boundaries. Given his spirit-like nature, however, he always feels an innate need to help, and so he may voice another memory again without realizing he is even doing so. If he does, I merely ask that you simply remind him to leave the matter be. He will always do his best to respect your wishes.”

Cassandra merely nodded, and the other woman returned it with her own. 

“Good. Tell me—” She used her spoon to direct itself amongst the various belongings scattered around the Templar encampment they had overtaken. “—do you believe we can use some of these supplies for our soldiers and scouts stationed nearby? I would hate to just leave them behind here before we head out again in the morning.”

“I’m certain we could, my lady,” she said as she took another bite of fish. 

Their late foes no longer had any use for them now after all.

* * *

Lady Cousland had mentioned last night that Dorian also had business in The Hinterlands although Cassandra couldn’t imagine why it brought them all to a tavern in Redcliffe of all places. She frowned at the lack of the usual ruckus and music from such an establishment. Given it was the middle of the day, it certainly wouldn’t have been closed. The lack of activity from within made her distinctly uneasy, especially when Lady Cousland announced that only she and Dorian would enter. 

“What if this is a trap, my lady?” she protested, brows furrowing in concern. It seemed the likeliest possibility, and Cassandra couldn’t help but grip the pommel of her sword more tightly.

The other woman’s gaze darted toward a shuttered window before looking at Dorian, who was standing in front of the tavern door with a curious expression of anger and also resignation. “We _are_ meeting with someone here,” she revealed, “but I would hope they would have the foresight not to engage in a diplomatic incident.”

Cassandra only frowned more deeply. Given the chaos of their lives, their enemies were rarely ever so considerate.

“Cole is always around in some sense should anything go awry. You, however, are more than welcome to stand guard out here, of course, but…” Grey eyes darted to her then, expression as placid as always. “Should you manage to hear any manner of magic or Tevene profanity being tossed about, I fully expect you to break down the door to come rescue us.”

She blinked at the sudden levity, especially as the corner of the woman’s lips almost imperceptibly curled up into a smile. Cassandra realized this was likely the quiet humor she often heard Sera speak of at Skyhold’s tavern. Cassandra had dismissed them at first since she’d had always known Lady Cousland to be a woman of utmost composure. Granted, she had heard her joking with Varric during their first journey up to the Temple of Sacred Ashes together, but given that it had occurred not long after that first, heated argument, she had merely assumed Lady Cousland was looking for any source of company outside of her. Just as Leliana had mentioned, however, the Inquisitor simply had many facets to her. 

Most just weren’t privy to them. 

It really was just a minor thing, but that Cassandra had been witness to it at all made something unfurl between her shoulder blades, and she huffed a small snort of amusement then.

“I will certainly do my best,” she retorted dryly in answer. “I will wait here then.”

“As you wish, Seeker.”

In the end, Lady Cousland and Dorian weren’t in the tavern for more than an hour, but Cassandra had still stood as a quiet sentry in front of the door. She was half-tempted to pace about the deck, but moving from her spot meant that she couldn’t discern anything of importance from within.

She did hear the low murmur of voices—too distinct to really determine any actual phrases—and there was a concerning moment when she heard Dorian’s voice raise, but other than that, it was relatively quiet. No magic had been unleashed that she could sense, and Lady Cousland hadn’t made any notable comments from within that would indicate she was in danger. 

Still, when both mages finally left the tavern—much to her immense relief—Cassandra had noticed that Dorian seemed more introspective than rife with indecision as he had earlier. She turned to Lady Cousland in question, but she merely shook her head. As Dorian moved ahead to gather their horses, the other woman stayed behind with her.

“I thank you for your patience in this matter, Seeker.”

“Ah.” Cassandra blinked, not really having expected any gratitude to what she felt was her duty toward her leader. “Think nothing of it, my lady. I take it we’re returning to Skyhold now?”

“We are," she confirmed before pausing for a moment to gather her thoughts. “Prior to this latest escapade, there were a series of Warden belongings we found in our travels that I’m sure Blackwall would like to have a chance to further study. He’s uncertain if they’ll help us in determining where his brethren are, but he would like to offer us assistance in the matter in whatever way he can.” Pale eyes turned to her then in question. “As such, I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind accompanying me in his place for the next several missions?”

It took her a moment to realize what was being offered to her, but once she did, Cassandra felt her lips pulling up into a smile in spite of herself. 

_“Give her time to actually know you.”_

She hadn’t forgotten Leliana’s words. Cassandra also knew that this request wouldn’t repair everything between her and Lady Cousland—not yet at least—but it was still a step in the right direction, which was more than she had a few days prior.

“I would be honored to do so, Lady Cousland.”

* * *

“Dorian,” Niamh called as she ventured into the nook of the library her friend had claimed for himself. She knew he had a preference for taking his meals there while the other mages retreated to the main hall for lunch. She found she’d been correct in her hunch when she saw him sitting in his usual armchair, and at her presence, he looked up from his book, smirking.

“Ah! Our dear Inquisitor graces me with her divine presence!” he announced cheekily, leading her to promptly roll her eyes and causing him to chuckle in response.

He seemed to be in better spirits since they had left Redcliffe, which she was thankful for. Granted, the unexpected appearance of his father there had rattled him endlessly, especially when Dorian revealed why he had parted from his family and Tevinter so acrimoniously.

* * *

_Niamh had been tempted to just lead her friend away from the older man, but as she eyed the magister’s clear desperation—which spoke of a father’s need to make amends than any real ulterior motive—she had been given pause._

_Perhaps it was her own sentimentality toward her late father, but when it looked like both men would come to blows with one another, she had stayed Dorian’s hand, pressing a hand to his shoulder to lead him away and talk._

_“Don’t leave it like this, Dorian.”_

_“And why shouldn’t I?” he demanded angrily. “It’s clear to me that he’s always cared for his legacy more than he does for me as an individual.”_

_“I will never deny that you were deeply wronged by him, my friend, but given the fate of many in my family…” She trailed off as a deep ache pulled mercilessly at her heart, paining her with memories and moments of love and acceptance amidst a world that often offered neither to her. Although Niamh still had Fergus, they had both lost so much with Howe’s treachery, and the emptiness with which they were left with was always an agonizing reminder. She sighed. “I suppose I always wished I had a chance to say goodbye to them. If you want to part ways with your father, then I have no objections, but let him hear that from you first.” She shook her head. “In no way am I asking you to forgive him, but he does seem to want closure if nothing else. If he’s as changed a man as he says, he’ll respect your wishes even if you want nothing more to do with him.”_

_Dorian swallowed, and he looked away to hide the sheen of frustrated tears in his eyes. “And if he doesn’t listen?”_

_“Then we’ll deal with it together; I promise.”_

* * *

“What can I do for you, my friend?”

“I don’t suppose Alexius has been more forthcoming with you in regards to the Venatori?” she asked, moving to seat herself at the windowsill. “Any information regarding them might be useful in some the operations our scouts have forwarded to us.”

Some of Dorian’s earlier humor became muted as he sighed heavily. “Much as I hate to say it, no. It’s become more akin to pulling teeth in getting him to even engage in a conversation with me.” He settled back further into his chair. “In lieu of his cooperation, I’ve been trying to draw up my contacts in Tevinter who might be able to help with some research regarding Corypheus or his Venatori, but nothing of note has come up so far. Why do you ask?”

“I just returned from a small meeting with our ambassador. Since my appointment as Inquisitor, I’m needed in overseeing matters of judgment along with my other new duties.”

Grave understanding drifted across his gaze then. “I see,” he said quietly. “You’re to decide his fate.”

“His and others, yes,” she answered. “He’s given you nothing of the Venatori then? Not even an inkling as to how they might work?”

“No.” Dorian rubbed at his jaw, however, mulling the thought over in his head. “This is merely speculation on my part, but if they were trying to aid Corypheus in whatever way they could, they’d likely be working from a similar pool of knowledge. We’ve seen the Venatori scattered across even the most remote parts of Ferelden. I imagine how each group fared in furthering our enemy’s goals would vary depending on what resources they had available to them.”

“Then, the knowledge Alexius had in regard to manipulating time itself…?”

“It’s possible that other Venatori would have access to that same information, yes.”

That had been the last thing Niamh wanted to hear. Of all the things she had hoped to have been wrong about, it couldn’t have been this. She averted her gaze sharply. “Damn it!” she hissed, causing her friend to straighten in his chair at the rare curse. 

“Wait.” His eyes widened. “Are you…? You’re… sparing him then?”

“I’ll give an official judgment later this week, but…” She tongued her cheek in thought as she gripped the stone sill beneath her hands. Her leather gloves creaked in protest at the harsh treatment. “I can’t in good conscience let him go now,” Niamh admitted reluctantly. “No one should have access to that type of power, but if there’s even a minor chance the Venatori could use it at will, then we need some way to counteract it. Right now, our best option lies with Alexius—loathe as I am to admit it.” Hope filled her friend’s eyes even as she couldn’t bring herself to be happy for him. “I know he’s your former mentor, Dorian, but I can’t pretend that I’m the least bit pleased with our situation—not after what he tried to do.”

The Alexius of this timeline may not have succeeded in his duplicitous plans, but the memory of Leliana sacrificing herself for them in that terrible future… It grated at her endlessly. Even with all her magical prowess, she’d been unable to save her. With her loss, Niamh's immense grief had nearly led her to murder Alexius following her return to the present, and the memory of that moment led her to sigh deeply.

“But I also recognize that I can’t convict him solely on what he _could_ have done. As it stands, Arl Teagan has more grievances against Alexius than the Inquisition does certainly. If he chooses not to cooperate with us, I’ll be turning him over to Redcliffe’s authorities. If Alexius agrees in aiding us against his former compatriots, however, tell him I’ll relax visitation rights so that Felix may see him more frequently.” 

As of now, they’d only been able to see one another twice a week. It had been done at the request of the healers attending to Felix at the time, who was growing weaker by the day now. As such, what time both father and son had left together was quickly dwindling.

“Thank you. I’m sure they’d both appreciate that.”

“Truthfully, I’m doing this more for Felix than his father.” Silence drifted between them for a moment before she continued on quietly, “He doesn’t have long left now, does he?”

“No,” he whispered. “There’s nothing more that the healers can do for him.”

“I’m sorry, Dorian.”

The smile he offered to her was weak even as he shook his head. “This wasn’t your fault, my friend. Not every problem in the world is yours to fix, but I thank you all the same for your consideration.”

* * *

“Weaver?” Niamh asked, spotting the elf in familiar scout’s clothing as she came out of Sera’s room in the tavern. She frowned briefly when he seemed to be holding something rather carefully in the palm of his hand. “Is that… a bee you have there?”

“Ah, Inquisitor!” He greeted her with his usual fluster before returning his attention to his small cargo. “And, yes, [the young man said it would help Sister Leliana if I put it in her wine.”](https://youtu.be/1EAEQBvoRTQ?t=76)

Niamh blinked. Perhaps she shouldn’t have sampled that liquor from Sera if she was having this much trouble drawing a connection to his words. “…and a dead bee would help how exactly?” she asked almost hesitantly. 

“I’m…” His ears twitched with embarrassment. “I’m not entirely certain. He, um… Oh, dear, why can’t I ever remember his name? He said Sister Leliana is always too aware of his presence, so he can’t get close enough to do it himself.”

Niamh glanced up at the floor above them. 

It was little more than an attic, but there was a door there that soldiers and scouts patrolling the battlements often used to enter through the tavern during their breaks for the sake of convenience. It was likely how Weaver had run into Cole to begin with. While she had solved many of mysterious incidents around the fortress—all courtesy of the admittedly odd but well-intentioned spirit—she wondered what his objective was regarding this latest venture. 

_Bees and wine… Why would that help Leliana? I’ve never known her to be particularly bothered by insects, but I doubt she’d care for a dead one anywhere near her drink._ Niamh rested an elbow in the palm of her hand as she cupped her chin in further thought. _Hm. Flowers perhaps? Bees tend to those before going back to their hive to make—_

Then, an older memory came to her of Leliana sitting with her at a tavern some years ago during lunch while some of their companions were off about in the town, following up on a lead. The other woman had broken a stick of honey over her wine before letting the last dregs of the thick liquid pour out over their bread, which was shared between them.

“Ah,” she intoned with a light laugh as she came out of her thoughts. “I see. Weaver, if you wouldn’t mind terribly, would you let me handle this?”

“Oh!” He sighed with such intense relief that he nearly collapsed, and she couldn’t help but smile in amusement. “Thank you, Your Grace!”

“Think nothing of it, but, um…” She stared down at the dead bee still in his hands. “Please do put that away, yes? Perhaps you might consider putting it in the compost heap outside the kitchen?”

He blushed, immediately closing his hand over the insect so that no one else would risk seeing it. “O-of course, my lady!”

“Speaking of Sister Leliana…” Niamh looked outside a nearby window to determine the sun’s positioning in the sky. 

It was mid-afternoon.

She noticed that Leliana rarely left her rookery as of late. Ever since her position as Inquisitor had been announced to all the world, her War Council had seen an increase in their respective roles. Josephine was fielding a sudden rush of letters from newer dignitaries looking to ally with them, Cullen was overseeing more operations now that many of the Inquisition’s soldiers had settled into their various outposts across Ferelden, and then Leliana was busy handling the ever-growing threads of intrigue across Thedas with her spy network. Thus, knowing the woman as well as she did, it was entirely possible she hadn’t eaten yet despite it being so late in the day. Josephine and Cullen were too rigid in their respective schedules to frequently skip meals, but Leliana could certainly forego a few if she felt there were matters that needed her immediate attention.

“Actually, would you mind escorting me since you’re already heading in the general area of the kitchen? I’d like to grab a snack or two from the head cook.”

“Oh? Oh!” Weaver straightened in place once he registered her request, and he beamed with pride. “Yes! I’d be happy to, Your Grace!”

* * *

“I’m sorry,” Leliana said quietly, guilt filling her as Cullen eyed the names on the list she had compiled. His shoulders seemed to droop as he read each one, and she saw the sudden tension in his jaw as he fought to keep his grief at bay. After a moment, he simply nodded before backing away from her desk. 

“So am I,” he replied with equal sadness, and Leliana felt the twist in her chest. 

Although they hadn’t been close, she knew he was hurting because she failed to perform adequately in her duties. She pulled away her people in the name of concern, and for it, it was largely Cullen’s own soldiers who had paid the ultimate price in protecting the Inquisition. 

Leliana looked up briefly when he made a small sound of startled surprise, and she looked past his frame to see Niamh standing at the top of the stairs, carrying something in her arms. They both said nothing as they locked eyes, but—as expected—Cullen dropped his gaze first out of deference and because it seemed he desperately needed privacy to gather his thoughts. He nodded to the other woman in greeting before quickly continuing his way down the stairs.

“Leliana?” 

There were so many questions in the simple call of her name, and it was with regret that she realized she didn’t have many to give. That this was also the first time Niamh had visited her rookery in weeks certainly didn’t ease matters. In fact, she had been dreading this confrontation since she’d received word that the other woman had returned to Skyhold yesterday. Leliana looked at the silver cylinder that had contained the names of the fallen, and she clenched it to the point where the metal nearly started to give in on itself. A shadow fell across her desk then, and she looked up to see Niamh clearing out a small space atop it to set down a small, covered tray. However, it was the frown marring the other woman’s expression that drew her attention.

“Did the Commander say something to you?”

Leliana simply sighed before she settled the cylinder atop the list of names and simply slid it forward for the other woman to inspect. She turned her gaze out of the window then, especially as dawning realization filled Niamh’s eyes.

“You must blame me for this,” she insisted solemnly. 

“And why would I?” Niamh questioned, dark brows knitting together in confusion. “You and I both saw who attacked Haven. We know precisely who to blame.”

But Leliana shook her head in frustration, turning sharply away from her. “You don’t understand,” she ground out. “When the first of my lookouts went missing, I pulled the rest back, awaiting more information as to why.” Her gloved hands reached out to grasp the stone windowsill by her desk, using it to steady herself against the sudden weight bearing down upon her head. “If they had simply stayed in the field, they could have bought us more time! But I… I was…” She sighed then, shame filling her. “I was afraid of losing them.” 

“You care for your people, Leliana. There is no shame in admitting that.”

 _“Isn’t there?!”_ she demanded, whirling about to face Niamh, and her voice raised sharply enough that her ravens cawed nervously in response. She eyed them briefly and bit her lip, somehow grateful that none of her agents were about to hear that she had lost her temper once again. That it had occurred before Niamh, their Inquisitor… Leliana shook her head in disgust. When the cacophony overhead finally calmed, she cleared her throat quietly before continuing on at a softer volume. “My people know their duty, and they’re more than aware of the risks involved in our line of work. They know that a time may come where they have to give their lives for our cause if need be, and it was my sentimentality that nearly cost us everything.”

“Leliana, in an ideal world, the Inquisition as a whole would never need to exist, but it does. That we stand here means that we intend to safeguard Thedas against yet another danger beyond imagining.” Niamh folded her arms over her chest with an expression she recognized was concern for her. “If we abandon the notions of compassion and good will—the very ideals that set us apart from Corypheus—then we are no better than our enemy.” She canted her head thoughtfully. “Wasn’t it I who told you that idealism is precisely what we need in such tumultuous times?”

“How can you still say that?” Leliana demanded. “You nearly _died,_ Niamh! You purposefully put yourself in harm’s way by stalling our enemy to bide us more time, but you wouldn’t have needed to suffer if I had simply made the logical decision instead of the emotional one! If we had more information… If I hadn’t feared losing my agents…” she trailed off miserably.

“And he may have killed them all anyway before they managed to even send a messenger raven out. It’s easy to see what the best course of action would have been after the event, but in the moment?” Niamh merely shook her head. “We make do as best we can. You made the best decision you possibly could have at the time. It isn’t a weakness to care for those under your protection. In fact, I would argue it’s the sign of a good leader. They are lucky to have you.”

Leliana sighed. “Sometimes I wonder if that might be true…”

“Leliana, I know how effortless it can be to miss the details in place of the larger goal at hand. For all my tactical experience, however, I never saw you or the others within our party back then as mere pawns.” 

She couldn’t help but flinch at the reminder of her last conversation with Niamh, and she averted her gaze even as she heard the other woman step closer to her—an arm’s length away now. Leliana fought the urge to close her eyes as she waited for the inevitable reprimand—the indication that her duplicity behind Niamh's appointment as Inquisitor was seen as too reprehensible to forget let alone forgive. 

But it never came. 

“And that’s not how you see your own agents either.”

Leliana blinked and slowly drew her gaze up to meet the worried one regarding her own. Niamh hadn’t moved any closer. If anything, she was respecting Leliana’s need for space but was clearly offering her presence in place of physical comfort. Her own words were incredulous.

“What reason would you have to still believe that after what I did to you?”

[ _How can you possibly justify that?_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xL5opUpa5gU) she silently asked. _You don’t know what I’ve done in all the years since you’ve been away. I became the person I thought I would never be again. I walked once more into the darkness with both eyes wide open, and from those shadows, I manipulated the fall of many and called for the deaths of countless others to better safeguard the peace the Divine was fighting for. Now?_ She bit her lip, a feeling of utter wretchedness overtaking her as she was once again reminded that Justinia was dead. _Now I wonder why I ever bothered... I preached redemption in the eyes of the Maker—of bettering oneself even in the face of pain and adversity—but I still hurt you._ Shame poured into every crevice of her soul with the admittance, and the shadow that seemed to loom overhead with her mantle as Spymaster seemed to darken, holding her hostage there. _I hurt one of the few people who had always believed in me despite everything. It’s my fault our relationship is as damaged as it is..._

“Just as you know me, so, too, do I know you,” Niamh insisted. “You have always acted with the best information presented before you. That’s why I tend to defer to your expertise regarding various matters over the War Table,” she explained. “If you felt the need to pull your agents back from the field, then there was sound reasoning in that judgment.”

“And what of the people we lost in that decision?”

The other woman’s shoulders rose and fell wearily as she sighed. “Much as I wish it were otherwise, we will end up losing people so long as Corypheus lives. Make no mistake, however, that it is because he has given us no other recourse in that matter. So long as we continue to see those beneath our command as people rather than tools to be used and discarded, I’d say we’ve a better advantage than him.” Ghostly-grey eyes looked to her imploringly then, and despite herself, she found herself unable to look away. “We are _better_ than Corypheus, Leliana. I never want you to forget that.”

It was with effort that Leliana had to stem the growing knot in her throat, which threatened to burst from her lips in sudden relief at Niamh’s words—at the notion that the woman believed she wasn't so far lost as she thought herself to be. She allowed them to wash over her like cleansing rain, drawing her further out of the dark prison that she had secluded herself in for weeks on end. Thus, she said nothing for several long moments, and perhaps understanding that, the other woman turned to the list of names then, giving her all the time she needed to compose herself.

“As for this… Hm.” Niamh cupped her own chin in thought. “Let me see if I can ask my brother or Alistair for aid. Details of what happened in Haven will have long reached them by now. I have no doubt they’ll want to help in any way they can.”

“I… thank you.”

Niamh shrugged. “Merely following your advice is all. A burden like this does not have to be yours to bear alone. I would share it with you if you’d let me.”

A weary laugh fell from her lips. “You know me so well then?

“Enough certainly.” Although a faint smile played on the other woman’s lips, there was something within that pale gaze Leliana couldn’t place, but then it faded as those brows furrowed in thought. “We… have changed so much since the Blight, haven’t we? I think a part of us was still holding onto the memories of how we saw one another, but we are hardly the same women we were back then.” Contrition filled her expression then. “While I was unhappy with how my appointment as Inquisitor occurred, I shouldn’t have been so angry as to hold you accountable to a version of yourself that you haven’t been in a decade. That was unfair to you.”

Leliana shook her head. “You don’t have to defend me for that, Niamh. I hurt you terribly; I know it.”

“Well, to get me to see reason, I imagine you weren’t left with very many options.” 

And Leliana hadn’t been. 

Niamh would have balked at the notion of leadership for as long as possible, but time was something they could ill afford. They needed every advantage, every resource, every connection they could, and that required a proper leader for the Inquisition. 

“As much as I wish it were otherwise, this was perhaps the best option we could wish for,” Niamh admitted. 

“I’m still sorry for having done that to you all the same.”

“I know, and I thank you for giving me the space I requested to mull the matter over." She blinked, considering something. "Actually, when I thought upon what our next conversation might be following that, I couldn’t help but think upon our enemy. Corypheus remains entrenched in a past that no longer exists, but I don’t want us to share in that same disillusionment. I meant it when I said we can do far better than him. If nothing else, we owe it to ourselves—” Grey eyes darted down to the list of the fallen. “—and them to try.”

Leliana frowned. “What are you suggesting?”

“That we not let the mistakes of our past shackle us. Back then… Oh, there were so many things I wished I could have done differently, Leliana," she admitted with a sigh. "I let the thought of what-ifs and what-could-have-beens linger longer than I should have, and I nearly made that same mistake again after I returned from that twisted future of Redcliffe.” She turned her attention to her then. “I’m not suggesting you forget those we lost or the pain that thought brings. They gave their lives, yes, but we can still honor them with the promise to do better as we move forward.”

Leliana nodded then in understanding.

“In regards to us… Well.” 

Leliana couldn’t help but stiffen, wondering if this was the moment Niamh would decide to sever ties with her, leaving them to only a strictly professional relationship within the ever-moving wheels of the Inquisition. She realized it was the logical conclusion. It would mean safeguarding them both from further pain if their personal affairs no longer intertwined, but that didn’t stop the sudden pain from rising within her heart. After everything, would she finally lose Niamh after all?

“As I said, we aren’t the same women we were back then. To expect ourselves to be does us both a great disservice.” Niamh smiled then, and it soothed the sudden incessant beating of her heart. “I’ve missed talking to you, but beyond our respective duties, I’ve…” Her expression turned sheepish then. “I’ve realized that I don’t actually know much about you now or what you’ve been through since we last saw one another back then. Perhaps that can serve as the catalyst in properly reacquainting ourselves with one another again. Only if you’d be amenable to the idea, of course,” she hastened to reassure. “I realize you’re often busy up here.”

They both looked overhead as one of her ravens flew in, and Leliana watched as those grey eyes lingered upon the one she had named Duchess Sunsinger, likely making a mental note of some detail or other. As an artist, Niamh had always been very observant.

“Are we… starting over then?” she couldn’t help but ask hesitantly. 

“As much as we can expect to, given our respective history with one another,” Niamh admitted with a soft laugh. “I would like to know what you’ve been doing all these years, and… perhaps it was time I revealed what I’ve done as well. In regards to the Inquisition, I don’t always expect us to see eye to eye on every matter that manages to cross our path, but I don’t want us to fear simply talking to one another regarding what disagreements we may have. After all we’ve been through, I would like to think we would be stronger for having acknowledged them to begin with.”

Leliana felt more of a genuine smile pulling at her lips then. 

For a time, she thought her actions against Niamh would be seen as unforgivable by the other woman, especially considering how rarely they ever disagreed with one another to begin with, but here? Her friend—and it felt good that she still had the honor of calling her that—was offering her an opportunity to mend and strengthen their relationship. She nodded then. 

“I would like that.”

“Wonderful. Ah.” Those eyes then turned away from her to settle upon the metal cloche that covered the tray Niamh had brought up earlier. The woman’s gloved hand then raised it, and Leliana could see a plate of lamb, grains, and vegetables waiting to be eaten. Leliana frowned as she looked out the window. Had it gotten so late in the day already? She turned her attention back to Niamh, who hummed quietly in consideration. “I’m afraid it’s cooled down a bit since we’ve been talking. My apologies. Do give me a moment though.” 

Niamh took out a small jar that had also been sitting on the tray and placed it to the side before upending the metal cloche in her hand. With the other, she gestured over it briefly with a flick of her fingers, sending a small orb of fire to circle repeatedly around the domed interior. Fascinated, Leliana watched as she placed the cover back over the food, and after several, long moments, Niamh then pulled the cloche away again to reveal a sizable amount of steam escaping from it. Leliana realized then that she had been reheating the food for her, and the scent wafting from it now was more noticeable—mouth-wateringly so. 

“There we go. Much better.” 

A gloved hand then reached out to offer her the fork that had accompanied the meal, and Leliana only took it when she realized the other woman wouldn’t leave until she did. In fact, Niamh had stayed until she sat down at her desk and began to take a few bites of food. Although Leliana had been exasperated at first by the attention, she couldn’t deny that the meal had eased the ache that had been growing within her stomach all day. 

Niamh turned to leave then. “I’ll be up in my quarters if you need me. Our ambassador gave me quite the number of letters to look over once I returned from The Hinterlands.”

Leliana nodded absently, cutting into another piece of lamb. Idly, her gaze turned over to the opaque jar that Niamh had set aside earlier. “What’s this?”

“Hm? Ah. I remembered you liked it with your wine. Enjoy.”

Leliana could hear light footsteps retreating down the stairs, but she was already in the process of removing the lid of the jar. At first, she didn’t see much of anything, but as she tilted the vessel toward a nearby wall sconce, she saw a dense liquid slowly pull away from the sides to gather sedately at the lip of the jar. The scent was all too familiar, and she felt herself smile as she realized what it was.

Honey.

* * *

“Lady Cousland?” 

Leliana glanced at Josie out of the corner of her eye from where they were both observing some workers putting together the new throne in the main hall. She was amused to see that the other woman was desperately trying to hide a wince. 

“Yes, Lady Montilyet?”

“Regarding your throne…” Josie was trying so hard to search for the proper amount of diplomacy in the matter, paling somewhat as the large, wooden mabari heads—all carved with intricately-fierce expressions—protruding along the back of the seat were hammered into place. The armrests—depicting equally intimidating wolf heads—followed in short order, and Leliana wondered if Alistair had commissioned the latter two pieces as an homage to Niamh's family. In any case, she had to suppress a laugh at Josie’s dismay. “We _have_ received a number of similar gifts from those who have offered allegiance to us. Are you certain you don’t wish to look at the others first?”

“It was a gift from the King of Ferelden, and he’s an old friend,” Niamh replied reasonably, waiting on the dais and supervising the building process thus far. “I couldn’t very well turn down such a kind gesture.” 

Not that she had wanted to. 

Leliana recognized the gleam in those silver-colored eyes. While Niamh normally didn't care for gifts that were clearly attempts at currying favor, the other woman knew this latest one had no such ulterior motive behind it. Thus, Niamh was absolutely ecstatic over what would clearly be a permanent fixture in Skyhold's main hall. _Still every bit a dog lord even after a full decade away from Ferelden…_ Leliana mused blithely. 

“I can’t believe King Alistair addressed this in such a way,” Josie murmured next to her—scandalized—as she read the letter in her hand. Curious, Leliana looked over her friend’s shoulder to see the message in question, and she recognized the quick scrawl immediately. 

_Thought you might appreciate this more than anyone else in your current company. Wish I could have convinced Anora to go for something like this. Aren’t you the lucky one?_

_-A.T._

Leliana snorted quietly in amusement. “He’s not one for formality between friends.” She looked back toward the dais when it appeared that the throne’s construction had been completed, but one of the workers—Orlesian from what she could tell of his accent—approached Niamh in confusion.

“Inquisitor, this also came along with it…” He hesitantly offered a long, thick-furred throw blanket. “We weren’t sure what to do with it.”

“Hm. Ah! Wait a moment.” 

Niamh gently took the blanket from him and then proceeded to drape it over the seat of the throne, situating the soft material so that one length draped itself along an armrest while the rest pooled down to the floor beside it over the opposite arm. With everything seemingly in place, she then sat down tentatively, cushioned by the fur beneath her and the comfortable leather at the back. As her arms then languidly sat along the length of either armrest, Niamh seemed to beam with satisfaction, more pleased than she’d been in weeks. 

Leliana stifled a small bit of laughter behind her gloved fist. “I suspect those in Ferelden will be pleased to see our Inquisitor shares so deeply in their heritage even if the Inquisition itself may be Orlesian in origin.” 

“But Leliana,” Josie whined quietly next to her. “It’s so…” She subtly gestured to the throne’s overall appearance.

“I know,” she soothed, “but it’s the only one that’s managed to provoke this much of a reaction from her.” Leliana pinned her friend with a look when it seemed that she might argue the point. “Come now, Josie. We’re already asking so much of her when she’s requested nothing of us in return. The least we can do is allow her some joy in this, no? Besides…” She looked to the rest of the Fereldan heraldry and decor that spread from one end of the hall to the other. “At this point, having anything other than that throne may look out of place here.”

“Hm. You do have a point,” she admitted reluctantly. As the double doors to the main hall were opened, a small flood of people began making their way inside for the event that would soon take place there. “Ah. It seems we were right on schedule. Good.” Josie cleared her throat before raising her voice to get Niamh’s attention. “Lady Cousland, are you ready to proceed with the judgments for the day?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Niamh replied calmly even as a familiar weariness settled in her eyes. Leliana knew this was another matter of her position she hadn’t wanted, but even with her reluctance, she thankfully understood its necessity. “May I ask whom I’m seeing first?”

“That would be… Oh.” Josie seemed to pause as she read over her notes. “That would be Chief Movran, my lady. He’s the father of the Avvar leader who originally took our scouts hostage in the Fallow Mire. He arrived not long after you left to attend to matters in The Hinterlands.”

“Ah. I suppose I should have expected some retaliation,” Niamh admitted, but her expression filled with concern. “I hope none of our own were terribly injured in the attack.”

Josie idly twirled her quill in her hand—a nervous tic for gathering her thoughts, Leliana knew. “Actually… it wasn’t our soldiers he was focused on, my lady. He attacked our walls.” 

Leliana fought to keep her expression neutral even as she remembered the incident quite vividly. 

Niamh simply blinked in confusion. “He… attacked our people patrolling atop the walls?”

“No. Just the walls themselves,” Josie clarified before reluctantly finishing the rest of her sentence. “[With a goat.](https://youtu.be/jOE5dcatob4?t=9)” She winced. "Repeatedly."

Silence descended over the woman upon the throne before Niamh slowly turned her gaze over to her with the most baffled expression Leliana had ever seen, as if hoping she might be able to somehow help her make sense of the otherwise ridiculous situation. _Did I suddenly forget how to understand Common?_ those bewildered eyes asked.

Leliana, however, merely backed away with raised hands and an amused smile. _Don’t look at me,_ she answered in turn before heading for the doorway that would lead up to her rookery. “Enjoy the rest of your day, Inquisitor.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... This was originally supposed to go up sometime last week, but I completely forgot my upload schedule fell upon election week here in the US, and needless to say, my nerves were frayed. 
> 
> Thankfully, N7 Day brought out the best possible news--gaming and political--and I'm back to my usual self again! :D
> 
> Also, if you guys aren't already following me on Tumblr, you probably missed out on the [Modern AU](https://morganaseren.tumblr.com/post/633903554775711745/modern-au) I posted, the [commission art of Niamh in Halamshiral](https://morganaseren.tumblr.com/post/634056722085036032/niamh-cousland-for-morganaseren), and the [OTP artwork I commissioned of Niamh and Leliana in my Arranged Marriage AU!](https://morganaseren.tumblr.com/post/634054224980951040/commission-for-morganaseren) :D
> 
> As always, let me know what you think of any of the above! I love hearing from you all! Until next time, dear readers!
> 
> EDIT: And I know I said I'd reveal Niamh's canon specialization in this update. Unfortunately, it didn't _quite_ fit into what I already had going on in this chapter--and I actually liked that it ended on an amusing note with Niamh and Leliana here--so I'm using the reveal for the next update instead. Many apologies! Please be patient with me! :'(


	19. With Ice Cold Hands Taking Hold of Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Niamh decides upon a path in specialized training from one of her instructors, and while defending Bethany and the children, she finally has a much needed conversation with Cullen regarding his past in Kirkwall and his future within the Inquisition.

“[I am Your Trainer.](https://youtu.be/Wj5C_mqJOM8?t=50)”

“Yes, but I asked for your name.”

“I am Your Trainer.”

Niamh couldn’t help but blink twice in succession as she regarded the older woman across from her with growing concern. “You’ve… said that already.”

The woman only nodded, her expression filling with something akin to both irritation and exhaustion. “Good. Glad to have that out of the way then. It's been a long journey, the cause is just, and if we don’t start soon, we won’t have time for you to learn.” She cleared her throat then before looking to her again, features falling slack into the same neutrality that she had first introduced herself with. “I am Your Trainer.”

“I... see,” Niamh said slowly, brows furrowing. “I thank you for coming out all this way to meet with me. As we are situated in the mountains, I’m sure the trek couldn’t have been the easiest. Are you certain you don’t wish to rest first before we continue our conversation? You seem a tad—” She searched her mind desperately for a word that wouldn’t be taken offensively. “—distracted.”

“It’s nothing,” the woman reassured with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I’m simply a bit fatigued, but thank you all the same. Now then, on to why I was brought here…”

As her potential trainer spoke, Niamh was amazed that a relatively-new phenomena such as the rifts were already being studied extensively. It was an intriguing thought: exploring their effects on more traditional, magical disciplines. Less exciting, however, were the casualties involved in such research. These Rift Mages—there had been nineteen others apparently—were unable to harness the power, save for the woman before her. The rest had unfortunately perished for the knowledge they sought. 

With the Anchor, Niamh had perhaps been luckier in more ways than one. It granted her some immunity to the rifts’ effects, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t feel the energy pulling at her hand all the same every time she sealed them. There was always that nascent danger lingering at the back of her mind, warning her that she could be drawn into the Fade and torn to pieces with just a single misstep. 

Would further study of them on her own part be enough to keep such a threat away, or would her curiosity prove to be her undoing? The scholar within her didn’t want to waste the opportunity. Her interest—if she decided to delve into it—could prove too steep in the end, however, and given her role at large, it was a risk she couldn’t readily abide. The woman before her—Your Trainer, as she kept referring to herself—couldn’t even remember her own name, but whether that had been an effect of the rifts themselves or her own absentminded tendencies was something Niamh couldn’t readily determine. 

Perhaps once Corypheus was dealt with, it would be a study of greater—and perhaps safer—merit by then, especially if the rifts themselves still lingered on with her foe’s defeat or if others found ways to conjure them on their own. _Better to err on the side of caution in any case._

“I thank you for your insight. I’ll let you know if I might have any further interest in the matter. For now, won’t you please join us for a warm meal?” Niamh offered, gesturing to the steps that led up to the main hall behind her. “You came at quite the opportune time. Lunch is still underway.” 

“Hm. I suppose a full belly does make for a clearer mind when it comes to my research,” Your Trainer admitted with the slightest grumble, but she nodded her head appreciatively all the same before taking her leave. “Thank you. I’ll take you up on that offer.”

With that, it was yet another avenue of training she had turned down. 

She sighed at the thought.

Niamh had already talked briefly with Commander Helaine over the woman’s own expertise as a Knight-Enchanter. As far as Niamh had always understood it, however, such individuals were generally hand-selected from various Circles to undergo rigorous training to specialize in it, and even then they weren’t guaranteed a chance to join such prestigious ranks. 

It was understandable, given their role was the highest honor the Chantry could ever bestow upon a mage. Knight-Enchanters lived rather comfortably and in good standing compared to others, for they often acted as an impressive security force to various higher-ups within the institutional hierarchy and—on occasion—nobility.

Niamh couldn’t deny the overall stature afforded of such a position. Lady Vivienne and Commander Helaine were prime examples of what the best of the Knight-Enchanters were capable of. While the methods of such a class were undeniably impressive, they were still largely not her own. 

Knight-Enchanters lived in the thick of battle as much as any warrior worth their grit. While Niamh had been no stranger to close-quarters combat over the years, she still preferred strategizing from afar, where she could better maintain the flow of battle.

That, and she didn’t want to risk another tie to the Chantry anchoring her down should she pursue such a path of training. 

Niamh had been a runaway apostate prior to returning to Ferelden after all. Inquisitor or no, she couldn’t trust they’d leave her be forever. 

While she appreciated her new quartermaster’s concerns, Niamh believed her expertise over the various elemental houses of magic were more than adequate for her own purposes. They had served the Inquisition well as a whole thus far after all. 

Still, she wasn’t so rude as to outright refuse the trainers who had traveled all the way to Skyhold—not without meeting them first at the very least. Even if she didn’t seem to hold any interest in specializing her abilities further, she reasoned that could ask them to aid the Inquisition in other ways. 

It never hurt to have more allies. 

Her brows furrowed as she completed her circuit of both the upper and lower courtyards, but she had seen no sign of her final instructor anywhere. When she made to pass by the gate again, she caught the sight of brightly-colored fabric, and she paused to see an older gentleman standing near the midpoint of the bridge. He seemed to be simply eying the mountains in the distance with contentment if the peaceful visage of his weathered features were any indication. From the fine quality and the heraldry upon his robes—far more vibrant than she had expected of a Mortalitasi—Niamh suspected that she had found the last of her visitors. 

“You needn’t stand out here, my lord,” she said as she moved to meet him. “You are more than welcome within the fortress.”

His lips lifted up briefly as his eyes met hers. “Warmth I do not often find even among my countrymen. My apologies, Inquisitor, I would have met you inside, but as I am far from home, I merely wished to look upon my new surroundings for a bit. I meant you no disrespect by my absence.”

“And you’ve given none,” she reassured. “I’m told you’re one of my trainers.”

“Indeed. [Viuus Anaxas](https://youtu.be/Wj5C_mqJOM8?t=208) at your service, my lady,” he announced, folding an arm over his hips so that he could bow deeply at the waist in deference to her status. “Your ambassador called upon me through an old contact of mine, and so here I am.”

“A pleasure to have you here then. Please, could you tell me more of your specialization? I’m afraid I’m not as knowledgeable about it as I would like to be.”

Admittedly, that wasn’t quite the whole of the matter.

Niamh had done some research into the various paths of training available to the arrival of her instructors, but further inquiry on her part usually led others to being more comfortable in talking with her. Her curiosity, however, was still genuine, and perhaps Anaxas recognized the truth of that as he spoke of his specialization, revealing what was to be gained by treading down what seemed to be quite a morbid path. 

She had recalled Cassandra speaking—albeit reluctantly—of an uncle who specialized in such training. As Niamh understood it, the Mortalitasi were a well-respected order within Nevarra, tending to those who'd passed on but also revering their lives by honoring them in death. On the battlefield, however, they were an unexpected force to be reckoned with, for they were able to harness the latent magic and death within the air to amplify their own abilities to startling degrees. They could also summon the dead to an extent, but as Dorian—a Necromancer himself—explained, it was more that he was using spirits to harness the fallen bodies of their foes into fighting for him. She had seen him use such a technique against the Red Templars just before Haven fell, but they collapsed all the same once the battle was through. 

The dead could not truly return beyond the Fade after all.

The concept itself was more macabre than people preferred to consider, however, for as revered as the Mortalitasi were within their homeland, they were otherwise seen as death-obsessed pariahs outside of it, rumored to have been involved in the likes of blood magic and such. 

_“Absolute nonsense,”_ Dorian had told her with a roll of his eyes. _“Mind you, any mage is capable of using blood magic, but I’m already drawing upon energy that’s already there on the battlefield. I don’t need to create another catalyst to further boost my power. True, people may not necessarily like what those of my specialization are capable of, but if we were the last line of defense between them and Corypheus, I would think they’d have enough sense to not look a gift horse in the mouth, don’t you?”_ he finished dryly.

“—of the techniques involve setting a curse upon an enemy, which deals continual spiritual damage and causes an eventual implosion from within.”

Niamh blinked as she was pulled from her musings, and as she caught up on the tail end of the conversation, she found herself frowning thoughtfully, remembering a scene from an almost a lifetime ago. 

“Wait. Is that a spell that can also be used to tailor explosions to the enemies nearest the affected target?”

Anaxas’ brows rose, seemingly surprised at her knowledge. “Yes, actually,” he said with a growing smile. “It can be triggered manually at your discretion for a more powerful effect if you’re dealing with a single enemy, but you can certainly have it affect an entire party if that suits your needs.” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “I’m curious. Have you been taught this before, Your Grace?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes.” Niamh admitted with a small laugh. “One of my former companions often used the spell you just described.”

* * *

_When she had been traveling through the Frostbacks with her sister’s party back then, they had found their path to the Temple of Sacred Ashes impeded by the horde of darkspawn along the way. She and Morrigan had fallen back to whittle away the enemies from afar while the rest of their group converged on the assailants closest to them. One Hurlock, however, managed to break away from the rest of the pack, rushing toward Niamh with a raised axe, but she had merely dropped to a knee and settled the weight of her staff across the length of her arm before making a vicious, sweeping motion that had immediately taken the darkspawn off his feet._

_While she would have been content to strike him dead, Morrigan had pulled the creature upright and pressed a hand to his head. His flesh sizzled and burned beneath the woman’s palm before she simply pushed him forward into a group of his approaching brethren. What began with one cursed target quickly spread to others in a virulent effect, resulting in a chain reaction of corrosive explosions. By the end of it, a sizable chunk of the darkspawn forces sent to stop their advance to the temple had been eliminated._

_Niamh could still remember the look of utter satisfaction on Morrigan’s face along with the small laugh of derision as she eyed their remaining targets, and she couldn’t help the feeling of awe overtaking her as the other mage demonstrated such mastery and confidence over her abilities._

* * *

“Granted, it’s been some years since the last lessons she gave me, but earlier, I believe you mentioned being able to influence the emotions of enemies in one’s favor?”

“Yes. Spirits are very much your guide in this, as they have their own relationship with death. In fact, there is always an abundance of them to be found upon the battlefield if one knows how to beckon to them. Thus, if we were to call upon a few spirits of fear, they would be able to instill terror into our enemies, making them more vulnerable for our other abilities.”

“And the spirits don’t mind this then?”

“It is very much a beneficial partnership, Your Grace. We do not bind them to flesh as a blood mage might, but we can give such ethereal companions a means to fight in the physical plane. It is never a permanent solution, however, if that is what concerns you. The spirits return from whence they came once the battle is finished, and the bodies they borrowed revert to the familiar rigor of death. You need not _rule_ with fear, of course, but if others could be dissuaded from engaging you and your forces with the intent to harm, would that not be preferable to bloodshed, Your Grace?”

Niamh could admit that he had a fair point. Protecting those under her care without having to lift her hand in violence… It was an appealing thought certainly. “Concept-wise, would it be similar to a mage’s aura of peace then?”

Anaxas inclined his head in answer, continually impressed by her. “An apt comparison, yes. If we can subtly influence the atmosphere around us to where we can appear unnoticed even in the midst of battle, then the opposite is very much true.”

 _Interesting..._ While Niamh doubted she’d use every aspect of the Necromancer class as they were intended to be utilized, what she had been told thus far had opened her up to numerous possibilities she hadn’t considered before. If nothing else, the knowledge she could gain about spirits overall—as they played such a large role within the specialization—was an attractive one. 

Niamh had always enjoyed learning for the sake of it.

That, and perhaps the nostalgia of remembering Morrigan was also an influencing factor. While the other woman’s abilities dealt with shape-shifting beyond her impressive arcane skills, this was likely the closest Niamh could get to relearning some of the concepts that she’d been taught what seemed like an Age ago. Enough of the Necromancer’s abilities certainly overlapped that she’d likely be able to pick up the training at a quick pace. Anaxas already seemed pleased by her pre-existing knowledge.

 _In a way, I suppose this is the closest I can get to honoring you, my friend._ she thought fondly. Even as her mind was busily conjuring various scenarios in which her new abilities might be used, she gestured back toward the main gate.

“Would you mind joining me for lunch so that we might discuss this more? I’ve many questions I’d like to ask.”

Anaxas smiled warmly then. “I would be honored to, Your Grace.”

* * *

“New staff, Neevy?” Sera asked as she intercepted her friend on her way out of the undercroft. She snickered. “Ain’t this your fourth one?” Her smile only grew when she caught sight of the other woman rolling her eyes in mild exasperation. 

“Don’t start, Sera. Harritt’s already miffed enough as it is now that Dagna has some sort of bet going on with him.”

“Oh?” she intoned curiously. When no other information seemed forthcoming, she gently prodded at Niamh’s arm as they made their way down the stone steps leading out of the main hall. “Oh, c’mon!” she whined. “You can’t just leave it there without telling me! What was the bet?”

“If you _must_ know,” she drawled with amusement, “they were betting on how long my new staff would last me.”

“Yeah?” Sera tilted her head as she eyed the weapon in question. 

Gone were the blunt weights on either end she thought the other woman had favored from her previous staves. Sera could admit that it actually looked like a staff now instead of a regular melee weapon. [While the shaft of it was a sleek black in color, donning the top of it was a stylized wolf’s head done in silverite, maw opened in a vicious snarl. ](https://morganaseren.tumblr.com/post/634054224980951040/muchinery-commission-for-morganaseren-omg-so)

It looked fancy. Impressive even. Definitely more fitting of Niamh than the other staves she had seen her carry before. 

“It’s not heavy like the other ones, is it?”

“No, I had Dagna reduce the weight of it. After the first three…” The other woman’s face twisted into somewhat of an embarrassed grimace. “Well, I felt badly for using up so much of the materials when they either ended up mangled beyond repair or lost. This new one is most or less in line with an average staff now in weight along with some hidden secrets to it.”

“Yeah?”

Niamh made a soft sound of confirmation. “I suggested a few concepts when I came up with the overall design, and Dagna helped me decide what could conceivably be done.” She lifted the staff enough to where Sera could see some small runes set in a ring around the lower end of the shaft. “If I sent a small shock of lightning through these—” Sera jerked in place a bit when a long blade suddenly popped out of the end opposite of the wolf’s head ornament, sharp and imposing as it gleamed in the light. “—they release the staff blade that’s otherwise held in place.”

She hummed thoughtfully, impressed with her friend’s idea. “Bet you can move with this much faster now." She shrugged. "Not that you were slow or nothing with your old ones or anything.”

“Well, that’s the idea certainly.” The other woman stepped back a pace and began twirling her staff in front of her, steadily building up speed until the details of the staff could no longer be pinpointed by sight alone. It just looked like one even blur of color.

Sera snorted. “Showoff.” 

“No, showing off would be me deflecting arrows with this.”

Her eyes immediately widened at the very idea. “Can you actually do that?”

Niamh chuckled. “Let’s just say I had to be a bit creative in learning how to evade those over the years without revealing I was a mage.” She flashed her a wry look as she slowed the rotations of her staff to a halt. “Dealing with barbed arrowheads is a pain in more ways than one.”

Sera winced. “Ugh. Those suck. Still not gonna believe you can actually turn arrows away with that until you actually show me though.” 

“Perhaps another time. Most of my afternoon has already been planned unfortunately.”

“Figured as much.” She eyed her friend's outfit more critically, especially given that she was dressed more casually today. Gone was the formal outfit Niamh normally wore around Skyhold, but in its place were leather trousers and boots along with a soft, sleeveless tunic that fell to mid-thigh. With the latter garment, Sera saw that she had been [absolutely right about the woman’s arms.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C69N7XBrrwQ) Niamh had some surprising definition to them—likely from all that staffwork—even if Sera _did_ wonder how her friend wasn’t absolutely freezing without a proper long-sleeved shirt on. _Must be a mage thing,_ she mused with a snort. “Where you off to anyway?”

“I promised I’d help Bethany with some lessons for the children. Most of them are too young to really learn at the same pace with the other apprentices yet.”

“Well, that’s sweet of ya.”

“Oh, they’re absolutely delightful when they’re not up to mischief.”

Sera arched a brow curiously. “Yeah?”

Grey eyes slid over in the direction of the stables down below. “They… may have braided my stallion’s tail and mane not long after I got back from The Hinterlands.”

The unexpected revelation startled a ring of sudden laughter from her. “You’re joking!”

“Hardly,” Niamh drawled, smiling. “Thankfully, Tiernan is so gentle with them to begin with. I think they may have plied his cooperation with some pastries they got from the head chef. She dotes on them just as much.”

“That young and already pulling pranks… Sounds like some of them could have the makings of a Jenny, y’know?” she teased.

“Perhaps. I think you might like some of them.”

Some of Sera’s enthusiasm faded then as she shuffled awkwardly in place. “Yeah? I dunno. I’m not usually around kids much…”

“There’s not much to it from what I’ve discovered,” Niamh said with a shrug. “Children are generally guileless and very honest in their opinions. They’re typically quite happy when anyone pays them any attention—even more so when someone takes an interest into whatever activities they find amusing. They also like gifts if you find that to be more preferable. Blackwall made them quite the little army of figurines the other day.”

“Well, I don’t know ‘bout making little toys or nothing, but maybe…” Sera trailed off, twiddling her thumbs nervously as she looked up at Niamh. “Maybe they’d like some of the cookies you’re teaching me to make?”

“I think they’d love that.” The other woman’s smile was warm, and Sera returned it. Her friend’s eyes then drew themselves over her head, and she turned to see that Bethany, Hawke, and the children were making their way toward them. “Right on time. Ah, and regarding your request of my arrow deflection abilities, how about I show you when we head out to Verchiel in a few days?”

“Looking forward to it, Neevy,” she said, walking backwards toward the tavern while sending some of the little ones a small wave and a smile when they seemed to be enthusiastically trying to get her attention with waves of their own. “Have fun out there.”

* * *

“You’re certain this isn’t an inconvenience?” Bethany inquired worriedly as they made their way across Skyhold’s bridge. “I’m told that a small number of instructors arrived for you the other week, didn’t they?”

“Yes, but I’m only working with one of them at the moment. As I already had some previous knowledge behind some of the new spells he’s teaching me, my training has progressed rather well. Today is essentially a personal day of review and practice. Besides, I think most of them were Circle-trained. It’s…” She tilted her head to and fro. “…refreshing to spar with someone who accumulated much of their knowledge and skills outside of such an institution. It’s not often that I run into a mage who specializes in force magic, so I imagine this training session might be enlightening for both of us.” When the other woman still looked concerned, Niamh directed a reassuring smile her way. “I made you and the children a promise to help, and I always do my best to keep my promises.”

“Well, I thank you,” Bethany said gratefully as she eyed her young charges. “It would be nice for them to have some basic knowledge of how to defend themselves, but given how young they are, I was worried that they wouldn’t be able to understand some of the concepts some of the older children are learning without some more personal attention.”

“Understandable, but as I’ve said, it’s quite alright. I certainly don’t mind spending more time with them.” At the sound of sudden laughter ahead of them, Niamh shifted her gaze in that direction as did Bethany, who merely groaned at the sight that greeted them. 

At some point, Hawke had taken to carrying two children under each arm. Thankfully, the warrior had gone for equally casual attire for their afternoon outing, so there weren’t any imposing metal spikes for the little ones to hurt themselves upon. If anything, they seemed to be having the time of their lives as Hawke carried them along like they were little more than small bales of hay. 

“New weights, Hawke?” Niamh asked, arching an amused brow.

“Indeed!” the other woman confirmed as they continued walking along the bridge. “I’ve been thinking about changing up my training regimen while I’m here. What do you think? Do they pass muster?” The giggling of the children under her arms only intensified when the warrior jostled them lightly. 

“I’m sure they do,” Niamh answered with blithe humor but she found herself looking down at the twin tugs on her tunic. 

Two more of Bethany’s children stood on either side of her, and they reached up with small hands toward her. Understanding their intent immediately, she settled the length of her staff across her shoulders and knelt down, offering either end of it to them, which they grasped eagerly.

“It’s not quite what the Champion can manage, but…” Niamh then rose back up to her feet in one slow, easy movement. The corners of her lips quirked up into a smile when the children began laughing immediately as they dangled off her staff. “If you get tired at any point, please do tell me so that I can lower you both back down, yes?”

Two heads nodded vigorously in agreement, gap-toothed grins greeting her, while Bethany merely sighed. 

“Oh, Maker, not you too.” The other mage rolled her eyes even as her sister guffawed in absolute delight. “Fine,” she relented, “but only until we get to the end of the bridge. Then, they’ll walk the rest of the way to the training grove with the rest of us.” 

Hawke, however, seemed indignant. “What? I can carry them all the way down there just fine!”

“You will be doing no such thing.”

Glacial blue eyes gleamed mischievously, apparently determined to see the challenge through, but Bethany pressed her index finger against Hawke’s sternum pointedly several times with an expression that brooked no argument. 

“No,” she repeated firmly before crossing her arms with a scowl. “Maker, what sort of antics have you and Isabela been up to while we’ve been gone?”

“Nothing worse than usual!” Hawke assured, feigning hurt by the accusation. The warrior looked down at the children she held beneath each of her arms before sending her sister another questioning glance. “What if I just carried them over my shoulders?” she asked.

_“Emrys.”_

“Oh, fine…” Hawke murmured as she trudged sulkily toward the end of the bridge.

* * *

Atop Skyhold’s battlements, two women were watching the departing party with soft laughter.

“She’s good with them,” Josie observed aloud with a lingering giggle, causing Leliana to nod in agreement. 

“She is. Niamh’s told me before that the Circle never really allowed her to have much of a childhood. Beyond the training and strict curriculum, there was just never enough time to indulge in such a thing,” she revealed even as she quietly marveled over how her friend kept to such kindness while having lived in an oppressive environment that allowed for so little of it. “I suppose she doesn’t want those children to endure a similar fate.”

 _“It’s important for them to know they can have a life that doesn’t completely revolve around magic,”_ Niamh had told her. _”I want them to know that they always have a choice. That they don’t have to fight all their lives just to simply be happy.”_

“I see,” Josie said, her expression turning more thoughtful as they watched the forms of Niamh and her party disappearing off into the distance. “Despite all her protests, she really did end up making a fine leader, didn’t she?”

“Yes.” Leliana’s lips curled up into a small smile even as she kept her gaze forward. “But I’m still looking forward to you telling her we’ll eventually have to attend the ball at the Winter Palace in a few months’ time.” Her smile widened when her friend audibly groaned next to her.

“Oh, please don’t remind me!” she begged before turning a hopeful gaze to her. “Surely, she wouldn’t be so opposed to the idea. Why, Lady Cousland’s done remarkably well with the visiting dignitaries we’ve had here thus far, hasn’t she?”

“In small doses.”

“…In small doses, yes,” Josie amended reluctantly. “Please tell me there’s something we can do that might further convince her of the importance of this ball.” 

_That_ was admittedly a trickier task.

Leliana knew Niamh wouldn’t care for it on mere principle alone. A country embroiled in the middle of a civil war seemed paltry in comparison to the stakes they were currently up against if Corypheus couldn’t be stopped. However, given their letters to Empress Celene and her court had either been ignored or—more likely—were being intercepted, written warnings of the danger she was in would no longer suffice.

It was a matter that couldn’t be ignored forever, especially if they had any intention of overturning the dark future Niamh saw in Redcliffe. As analytical as the other woman was, she would certainly understand the necessity in attending the event personally.

…even if reluctantly so. 

Leliana sighed. 

“I may be able to smooth the matter over with her, but some incentive might not hurt.” 

“Well, I do have some new tea blends arriving in a few days. Perhaps that might put her in a more receptive mood.”

“It’s a start certainly. She also enjoys sweets as well actually. Perhaps we could have her sample some Orlesian delicacies. Thus, she’ll know what to expect once we get to the Winter Palace." She turned to Josie curiously. "Do we have anyone who could deliver those to us, or could we perhaps have a few recipes sent along for our head cook to try?”

“I’m sure we could, but…” The other woman trailed off with a frown. “…it may take some weeks for such supplies to arrive to us.”

“That’s fine, Josie. Niamh’s already told us she plans to head out to Crestwood in a week's time with Hawke to find her Warden contact as well as deal with reports of the undead overrunning the area. It gives me time to think of a way to properly approach her with this.” 

Although Niamh had already forgiven her regarding how her appointment of Inquisitor occurred, Leliana was determined to do better by her, and that meant not underhandedly forcing her friend into another situation she felt she couldn’t refuse. 

She had no intention of ever doing that to her again.

* * *

“When we siphon energy from those who have fallen on the field, we can further affect the flow of battle in more than just amplifying our own abilities,” Anaxas said as they both strolled leisurely along the battlements. “We can have it aid our allies as well. Imagine being able to hasten their speed along with your own to startling degrees—so much so that your opponents’ eyes struggle to even keep up. In comparison, they may as well be standing still with the quickness of your steps.”

Niamh’s brows rose with interest. “Would it be similar to temporarily granting my party the ability to Fade Step then?”

“Yes, but the effect would last longer,” he explained. “Not infinitely, of course, but imagine being overwhelmed by enemy numbers yet—despite being at such a disadvantage—still managing to change the entire course of battle in your favor within a matter of seconds, Your Grace.”

It was an interesting proposal. 

While there were a number of Inquisition outposts situated around the country now, Niamh had only ever taken a small number of her inner circle anywhere with her during her missions. It was very much a high-risk, high-reward tactic. While she didn’t doubt the devotion of the soldiers and scouts who were deeply committed to their cause, some were still new to the notion of taking up arms. The possibility of having to take a life in addition to that was not one to be taken lightly; it changed people in some ways, and not always for the better. Niamh knew she couldn’t keep violence away from them all forever, but if she had any opportunity to do so, then—

“Vicious, little cretins!” 

“I assure you, they meant no harm!”

Niamh’s brows drew together when she heard the commotion down below in the courtyard just outside the tavern, recognizing Bethany’s voice instantly. She moved to peer over the stone railing and saw that the other woman was standing in front of a few of her young charges, who seemed to be trembling behind her. The three boys were a tad dirty, which wasn’t too concerning, considering she knew how much they liked to roughhouse and play about in the mud at times—much to Bethany’s eternal exasperation. 

“I should have expected as much from a mage, attacking me so!”

At the outraged shout, Niamh then drew her gaze to an apparent noble—Orlesian if his accent and ever-present mask were any indication—who was gesturing at the pristine white of his slacks, one leg of them clearly dirtied. A ball—half-soiled with mud—stood a body’s length away from him, and as she turned her attention to the frightened, young children, the pieces of the situation slowly started to come together.

“My lord, please!” Bethany implored. “The children were merely playing when they lost control of the ball! They certainly did not mean for it to hit you!”

“What’s going on here?!”

Cullen entered the area then from the lower courtyard steps with two of his Templars in tow, and at their appearance, she noted the shift in Bethany’s demeanor immediately. While she had been urgent in trying to get the noble to see reason before, Niamh saw how the other woman immediately took a half-step back, as if preparing to bolt. In fact, she frowned when she saw the way how Bethany’s entire body seemed to tremble. Then, as she turned to her children, Niamh saw the whites of her eyes—a sign of fear.

“Go back to the garden,” Bethany urged them.

One of the boys shook his head, hands reaching out to hold her arm desperately. “No! We’re not leaving you!”

Niamh had seen—and heard—enough.

“Cole,” she called urgently. 

“Yes?”

Anaxas made a sound of surprise next to her—likely at having the spirit in question suddenly appear before them—but she focused her attention on her companion. “I need you to find Lady Montilyet. Please tell her there’s a situation in the courtyard that I urgently need her help with.”

Cole turned his head to look over the scene below them briefly. “Ah. Yes. I don’t like him. His thoughts are loud and angry. The kids were enjoying themselves, but now they're frightened and ashamed when they shouldn't be.” He nodded to her then. “I will find her.”

“Fascinating,” Anaxas commented when the spirit simply disappeared again. 

Niamh suspected he would have liked to have a conversation with her companion, but Cole kept his distance from him all the same. In fact, when Cole had discovered what type of training she had been undergoing, he had been quieter around her than usual, and given his usual manner of giving observations aloud, it spoke volumes. He still came to her aid when she needed him—as was the case moments ago—but she reasoned they would need some time to sit down and discuss the matter in full. Perhaps their trek to Verchiel would grant her such an opportunity. _Something to worry about later,_ she mused reluctantly even as she bowed her head to Anaxas in apology. 

“Forgive me, my lord. I must attend to this.”

“No apology is needed, Your Grace,” he answered, approval in his gaze. “Consider our lessons for the day done. I suspect the little ones below are more in need of your presence than I am.”

Niamh smiled and pressed both hands to the stone railing before simply vaulting over it to the ground below.

* * *

Emrys had been in tavern, sharing a couple drinks with some of the Chargers when she heard the beginnings of the commotion outside. With the music playing and the constant chatter around her, she had almost mistaken the sound as some soldiers practicing on the dummies in the training yard. It wasn’t until she heard her sister’s voice that she immediately surged out of her chair—her mug of mead spilling across the table—as she bolted for the exit. 

She reached the doorway just as the argument reached its peak, but her quickly-growing concern turned to rage when she caught sight of a figure from her past there staring agape at her sister. Bethany returned that gaze with utter terror in her eyes, and Emrys bristled as she strode forward to immediately put her body between her, the absolute arse of a noble, and the Knight-Captain and his fellow Chantry lackeys. 

Emrys was well-aware that she was without her armor or her greatsword. As she and the Inquisitor weren’t expected to head into Crestwood until the following week, it made more sense for to dress more casually around Skyhold. As for her weapon of choice, she was having the nicks along its blade repaired by the workers in the smithy. She still had access to her daggers though. Isabela had trained her somewhat in them over the last several months, but she didn't quite have the same speed and finesse with the blades as her lover did. However, her Reaver abilities more that accommodated for any disadvantage she’d face, for any injury she suffered would be delivered unto her opponents tenfold.

In the end, her pain was inconsequential.

The Templars would never lay a hand on her sister or the children ever again. 

“You!” she growled out as she glared at the Knight-Captain. “I was wondering when you’d show your face!”

He blinked, seemingly startled out of his thoughts, and while the noble he had been guarding took a step away from her—seemingly taken aback by her towering form—the Knight-Captain appeared to be struggling to find his words. “Hawke, I—"

“Mark my words, Templar, I would sooner rip your throat out with my bare hands than allow you to take my sister away again!” She let her palm rest over the pommel of the dagger holstered along the thigh of her trousers, but she didn’t unsheathe it. It was merely a warning for him to not press her patience. Her lips curled up into a sneer then. “Or do you intend to have history repeat itself in other ways? Have you surpassed your Knight-Commander in prejudice and violence after all?”

“No!” he denied with wide, panicked eyes. “We… We truly were just investigating the disturbance over here! I wouldn’t have—"

“Once a Templar, always a Templar, am I right? ‘He was one of them, save for a convenient last-minute change of heart,’” she bit out angrily between clenched teeth, stopping his words cold. “Isn’t that what you said of the mage who went against his elders to save my sister. Isn’t that what you did in the end once I stopped Meredith once and for all?” she asked, voice raising with every word until she felt like she was seeing red. “Are you seeing the similarities yet, Knight-Captain?!”

She barely felt the tug at her arm from her sister, who was desperately trying to pull her away from what was a long-awaited confrontation in the making. “Emrys, stop!” she pleaded. “This isn’t helping!”

She glanced down briefly and did a double-take upon seeing the fear so evident in Bethany’s eyes along with the well of concern solely for her. Emrys wanted so desperately to keep her rage—to deal with the ever-present pain and bitterness that was like a rusted knife to her side whenever she thought of the man who reminded her of her failure to protect Bethany. Instead, she found her own gaze softening, realizing that her behavior had only added to her sister’s worries, and after everything, she certainly deserved far better from her. Before she could even begin to apologize to Bethany, however, an audible crash further along behind them as well as a rush of force magic swept over them like a sudden breeze. It was similar to her sister’s in a way, but there was a strange… numbing sensation behind it—the beginnings of a storm just at the cusp of winter. 

[Emrys turned her head to see a pair of startling, luminous eyes as the figure slowly rose from their crouch.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yWabGQBnzKo) Then, as the dust and debris settled down around them, she could see the form of Cousland emerging from the shadows of the corner courtyard, the silver embroidery of her formal jacket gleaming gently as she stepped into the sunlight. The glow of that gaze was more muted now, and as the seconds passed, she could no longer distinguish the magic of them from the naturally-pale hue of her eyes. She did, however, see the clear concern within them as Cousland looked from the boys nearest her, Bethany, and then Emrys.

“What seems to be the problem here, Champion?”

The noble stiffened in apparent surprise upon hearing her title, and although Emrys didn’t care to use it anymore, she knew from Cousland’s calm gaze that it was for purposeful effect—one likely to aid the situation. As such, she stemmed her irritation and merely jerked her chin toward the noble responsible for this whole mess. “This horse’s arse was harassing my sister and the children, Inquisitor. I stepped in before he could summon the Templars to finish the matter,” she answered stiffly.

As if reminded of the Knight-Captain’s presence, Emrys felt Bethany tense up next to her before she simply moved herself behind the bulk of her back, out of the man’s line of sight. The action was something Cousland took notice of immediately, for her brows knit together more deeply, especially as the children next to her proceeded to hide themselves in a similar manner behind her. 

“ _You’re_ the Inquisitor?” the noble choked out. Emrys noted with vicious satisfaction that what skin of his that wasn’t covered by the ridiculous mask paled instantly as realization dawned over him. “T-then, the rumors of you being a mage were…”

“Quite true, yes,” Cousland answered, a slow smile creeping over the edges of her lips, but Emrys saw how the kindness of the gesture couldn’t so much as thaw the ice that had gathered behind her eyes. That cool gaze then turned to the Knight-Captain. “Commander, it seems you and I have much to discuss.”

 _'Commander?'_ Emrys repeated in confusion within her mind. _He managed to get promoted since I saw him last?_ It hadn’t done him much good it seemed, for the man appeared cowed before the mage, dropping his gaze before hers instantly—shame-faced. 

“Yes, Lady Cousland…”

The woman in question then turned her gaze to the noble, her expression cordial even as her eyes gleamed subtly like hidden daggers in the night. “My lord, I do apologize that your outfit was unfortunately dirtied in this incident, but, alas, children will be children. Sometimes we are drawn in unaware to their games, but I believe their actions against you were more of excess energy gone awry than any true, malicious intent.”

“A fair point, Y-your Grace,” he said, nearly stumbling over his words as he tried to regain control of the situation. “I… I suppose I spoke too quickly.”

Whether he managed to appease the woman couldn’t readily be determined for those pale grey eyes turned to look overhead a moment later. “Ah, and I apologize for not being able to meet with you more formally today, my lord, but I’m sure my ambassador would be more than happy to answer any questions you might have or requests you’ve brought to our attention.” 

Cousland than raised her hand in a wave to a figure beyond them, and Emrys caught the noble turning his head to look at the steps toward the main hall out of her peripheral vision, but she kept her gaze on the mage. Her eyes still weren’t focused on her, but Emrys blinked in surprise when the warmth in those features faded, falling slack as her lips thinned before the thumb of her upraised hand tapped her middle finger thrice.

 _A hand signal?_ she thought curiously, but as the noble returned his attention to Cousland, the woman’s expression turned genial once more. 

Even more confused, Emrys drew her gaze to the steps to see Ambassador Montilyet there, utter disapproval in her gaze as she eyed the noble, but when she felt her eyes upon her, the other woman then offered her a reassuring smile—one that promised that she would take care of the matter personally. Emrys had only been briefly acquainted with her, but she was certainly interesting as far as diplomats went. She had never seen one play Wicked Grace so adeptly as she did—something she hadn’t expected considering how hospitable and accommodating the ambassador otherwise was in her usual duties. Depending on how lenient the other woman felt, Emrys imagined that the noble would be lucky if there anything left to his reputation by the time he returned to Orlais.

“Commander, I’ll meet you in your office in an hour for our conversation. Please do not keep me waiting,” Cousland said then.

“Of course, Lady Cousland,” he answered before all but fleeing down the steps into the lower courtyard. Curiously, however, his colleagues—a young man and woman—remained behind as if hesitating to follow after him, which the woman soon addressed.

“Mattrin and Lysette, if you would kindly escort the lord to Ambassador Montilyet’s office, it would be greatly appreciated. It wouldn’t do for a guest of ours to be burdened by any more troubles after all. Stay with him until our ambassador requests otherwise.”

Both the younger Templars bowed deeply in acknowledgment, and Emrys found there was no resentment in those gazes—just a wealth of respect for the woman before them. 

“Of course, Your Grace,” the woman—Lysette, it seemed—said. As her male counterpart straightened in place, he was gently gesturing for the noble to follow along after them.

“This way, my lord.” 

It was apparent that Cousland had earned the loyalty of some of the Chantry dogs. Emrys would’ve questioned it, but having had the opportunity to properly acquaint herself with the woman many in Thedas thought was either their divine savior or a demon in disguise, she had learned of how she fiercely she guarded those under her protection—the youngest of them most of all. Cousland offered just as great a respect to those who had sworn fealty to her, and she always had a kind word to say to those who helped upkeep Skyhold. 

The woman could be benevolent to a fault, and Emrys often wondered if it would prove an obstacle in eventually achieving their goals. She knew how tales could be greatly exaggerated after all; Varric’s own regarding Emrys were testament to that fact. However, the many mages within Skyhold spoke highly of Cousland—the first person to have offered her hand in friendship but was also unafraid to defend them. She had more than enough means to do so if the fraction of the energy Emrys felt at the woman’s impressive entrance earlier was any indication.

As they were left alone, Cousland’s mask of diplomacy then faded before she quickly moved to her knees to inspect the children with open concern. “Are you all alright?”

As the boys had likely been playing in the mud prior to the noble harassing them, they seemed a little worse for wear, but they didn’t seem to be physically hurt. Emotionally, however…

Luka—the youngest of all the children at only four years of age—sniffled audibly. Emrys then watched painfully as large tears gathered on the edge of his lashes before they slowly fell in large swaths down dirty cheeks. The boy’s face scrunched up as his lower lip quivered, and Cousland’s arms gently enveloped him just as the first hiccupping wail filled the air, the belated stress and terror of the situation finally washing over him. 

“It’s alright,” Cousland reassured soothingly. “You’re safe. Lady Montilyet and I are going to fix this, but none of you are in trouble. I promise: no one is going to hurt you here.”

Her words seemed to affect more than just the children. When she heard the hitch of breath next to her, Emrys immediately pulled her sister into a hug, which Bethany returned fiercely, hiding her face against her shoulder. 

“Sorry,” Emrys murmured in apology as she felt her sister shaking silently, especially knowing that she likely hadn’t helped the situation with how livid she had been. “You really okay?” Bethany nodded but otherwise said nothing, but she still heard the quiet sniffle. Emrys sighed. She turned to Cousland then, who had risen to her feet. She was cradling Luka—who was still visibly upset—with one arm while using the hand of the other to card her fingers through the hair of the other two boys comfortingly. “Nice entrance earlier by the way," she said, catching the woman's attention. "I appreciate the help.”

“Ah. I just happened to be nearby is all. That, and, well…” Sheepishness filled her expression then. “It was faster than taking the stairs.”

Emrys chuckled. “I’m grateful all the same.”

“I’m always happy to be of aid when I can. Is there anything else I can do to help? Perhaps I can escort you all back to your tower before I’m due for my meeting with the Commander.” Concern filled her eyes then. “I know it’s only been recently renovated, but I do hope you’re all settling in alright there. If it isn’t to your liking, I’m sure our quartermaster can search for other accommodations.”

“Oh, not at all!” Bethany insisted, finally pulling away from Emrys, taking a few moments to dry her eyes. “It’s honestly more space than we know what we do with.”

And it truly was, Emrys realized. 

Since Bethany and the children had arrived well after all the other mages within the Inquisition had been settled into the fortress, they had been left with one of the last towers to be renovated. It wasn’t any larger than any of the barracks offered to the soldiers, scouts, and mages—the tallest outside of Cousland’s own quarters was in fact Skyhold’s Mage Tower—but for an adult or two and a small horde of young children, it was an abundance of space that offered an overall recreational area on the main floor as well as sleeping quarters on the one above it. 

“I think it brings them some comfort to see your tower across from ours when they go to sleep,” Bethany revealed, clearing her throat of its sudden hoarseness. 

“Oh.” Grey eyes blinked at her in surprise, but it didn’t stop the smile from burnishing Cousland’s features with warmth. “Well, I’m glad then. In any case, as it’s been a rather eventful afternoon, perhaps we could retire there for a bit.”

“Are you certain? There must be other matters that need your attention.” Bethany wrung her hands worriedly. “We wouldn't want to trouble you.”

“No trouble at all, truly. I’ve an hour to idle away, and I couldn’t think of finer company to spend it with.”

The words had been said genuinely enough; yet, Emrys couldn't help but purse her lips, especially as she noticed the smiles being exchanged as they began walking toward the stairs leading up to one of the towers. The two women were soon drawn into conversation with one another, and while Cousland still held Luka in her arms, she had also offered her hand to one of the other boys while Bethany did the same for the third one.

It seemed almost picture-perfect—too much so, in fact—and Emrys' sibling instincts were flaring rapidly in response. 

This was _definitely_ going to be something she would have to keep her eye on in the future...

* * *

“I swear, I was only investigating the disturbance since I was already surveying the renovations of the gate archway nearby! I had no intention of doing anything to Lady Bethany or the children!”

“I wasn’t suggesting otherwise, Commander,” Niamh said patiently. “I merely wanted to ask how well you were acquainted with one another.”

“She…” He blinked at her, taken aback. “She didn’t tell you?”

“I knew she was in Kirkwall’s Circle, as were you. Considering what went on within it, it seemed… uncouth to pry into what was likely a sensitive subject unless she brought it up first. As she never did, I assumed she either didn’t wish to discuss it or her interactions with you were at least amiable.” Her mood cooled somewhat. “Given the rather visceral reaction she and her children had upon seeing you and your Templars, you can see why I’d be concerned.”

“Lysette and Mattrin weren’t even stationed in Kirkwall, but I can assure you, I never touched Lady Bethany or those children!”

“But others under your command back then may have?” When her inquiry was only met with silence—along with the utter guilt and shame in Cullen’s eyes—she felt she had her answer, but she pressed on anyway. “I was nowhere near the Free Marches at the time of the rebellion, but of the rumors I heard of Kirkwall’s Circle, I couldn’t decide which was worse: that the mages within were abused in the most heinous of ways or that they were turned Tranquil for the most minor of reasons.” She paused, lips thinning. “I’m still undecided on the matter, but I hope you can understand my apprehension along with why I would want to ensure that nothing of that nature happens within the Inquisition.”

“None of the Templars or soldiers under my command here have done anything of the sort, Lady Cousland!” he swore desperately. 

“But you do understand that given your past history, others—mages or otherwise—may call your position of power here into question, yes?”

Cullen slammed both palms on his desk then, rattling the contents atop it and sending a few papers scattering to the floor. “If you wish to relieve me of my position as Commander, then as leader to the Inquisition, you’re well within your right to do so!” He cursed beneath his breath as he ran a hand through his hair in utter agitation. “I told Cassandra that if my ability to lead our forces was compromised, I should be removed from command, but she didn’t listen! She said I was being far too hasty with my decision, but I _know_ how this affects me! My choice in this may amount to nothing in the end!”

“Is this about you no longer taking lyrium?” she asked calmly, and the revelation stopped him in the middle of his tirade as he turned to her, stunned. “Seeker Pentaghast discussed the matter with me briefly when I accidentally walked into your conversation with her the other day. May I ask what led you to such a decision?” She frowned. “After taking such a substance for so long, I can only imagine that the effects from withdrawing from it must be rather… unpleasant.”

Exhausted laughter escaped his lips in a sudden rush of breath as he leaned heavily over the small, wooden kit containing his lyrium supplies. “To say the least, yes.” He sighed. “Lyrium grants Templars our abilities, but it controls us as well. Those cut off suffer—some go mad and others simply die.”

“Despite being aware of those consequences, you still refuse to take it?”

“Yes.”

“When did you stop?”

“Not long after we formed the Inquisition,” he revealed wearily, running a hand down his face.

Niamh's eyes widened.

It had been several long months since their organization’s inception; however, as she reconsidered his behavior from when they still had been based in Haven, everything suddenly became startlingly clear. 

Cullen had been a great deal more confrontational with her back then, but Niamh had assumed it had to do with old prejudices and misgivings regarding her people, especially given what he suffered at Kinloch Hold. Following their settlement into Skyhold, however, he had mellowed out considerably although their interactions with one another were still of distant politeness at best. Of that, she had reasoned it was due to him finding the fortress to be more defensible than a simple mountain village, giving him less to stress over in regards to the safety of the Inquisition. 

With this new knowledge, however, that no longer seemed to be the case. 

It was exceedingly rare for mages within the Circles to suffer from lyrium withdrawal since the Chantry only supplied them a heavily-diluted version of the ones given to the Templars. It was necessary, given the effects of lyrium were often more powerful on individuals who were more sensitive to magic. As such, the Chantry and Templar Order likely feared the risk of stronger abominations running amok following their Harrowing rituals.

The type of lyrium Templars received was nearly uncut in comparison, and it allowed them to wield the abilities to bring the mages under their watch to heel with little trouble. For being able to use such power, however, the side effects they risked were, of course, far stronger should they decide to no longer take it. _Which begs the question…_

“Why are you doing this?”

“After what happened in Kirkwall, I couldn’t…” He trailed off before shaking his head, raising his eyes to meet hers tiredly. “I will not be bound to the Order—or that life—any longer. Whatever the suffering, I accept it, but I wouldn’t put the Inquisition at risk.”

She arched a brow curiously. “Is that why you asked the Seeker to watch you?”

“Yes.”

“She also mentioned that she met you back in Kirkwall. May I ask why you decided to return to Ferelden? You could have gone anywhere after the rebellion. You certainly didn’t have to join yourself to another cause.”

“I… I didn’t like who I was back then—not after what I lived through with Uldred and the Knight-Commander. I want to believe that I can do better. I thought that perhaps without lyrium addling my mind, it might be possible, but I suppose I never considered that part of my journey would entail…” He trailed off reluctantly then.

“What Hawke said bothers you,” she surmised, “and now you have more than just me to remind you of your past. Now, you wonder if they’ll ever be able to see past what you are and how you were.”

Cullen looked away then, shame-faced. “Yes,” he admitted softly. “Lady Cousland, what I said before Haven fell… Back in Kinloch Hold, I—”

“I’ve neither forgotten or forgiven your words, Commander.” Her words stopped him cold, and after a moment, he simply closed his mouth with the muted clicking of teeth before shifting awkwardly beneath her gaze. “It’s not that I can’t or won’t. With what’s at stake, I don’t have the time or luxury to hold grudges, especially if they might affect the safety and integrity of the Inquisition. In regards to us, I’m at the point where I’ve simply just… moved on. Perhaps it’s time you do the same.”

He scoffed quietly, incredulous. “You make it sound so easy…” 

“It wasn’t without effort.” A sigh escaped her in the form of a slow exhale. “Truthfully, of my War Council, I found you to be the most resistant to the idea of change simply because the world was shifting faster than you likely anticipated. Without the structure you’d known all your life, you were left floundering amidst further uncertainty, so I can understand your hesitation regarding me. In that sense, you must also understand why I’d be reluctant of your anti-mage stance, especially given who are allies are, yes? While it was something of an adjustment as they settled into the Inquisition, have the mages not managed to prove themselves? Is that not why you agreed to combine some of your forces with Commander Helaine’s own for mixed-party military maneuvers?” When he nodded, she gave her own in turn. “We need to be able to depend on one another to stand a chance of stopping Corypheus.” 

Niamh paused a moment as she looked upon him—pale, exhausted, and just the hint of perspiration at his brow. The symptoms of lyrium withdrawal had been there from the start, but even with them now, she could admit their interactions during War Council meetings had been less fraught with tension as of late. Still, Cullen wasn’t someone she could call a confidante outside their respective duties—not yet at least. There might be a time where they could return to some manner of cordiality with one another, but for now…

“I will admit that I don’t know if it’s possible to regain what we’ve lost in regards to us; I have my doubts truthfully. Saving Thedas should still be our main priority after all. Thus, if you are willing to meet me halfway in achieving that, then I’ll certainly endeavor to do the same.” From his sullen expression, it was clearly not the answer he had been hoping for, and she simply sighed. “Commander, you must understand that the forgiveness you seek is simply not just mine to give. There are others you have wronged—moreso than I.” 

“I… I understand. It is one matter if I can’t perform in my duties here, but I acknowledge that I was in a position of power that led to the abuse of the people I was responsible for in the past.” He straightened in place, resting his hands upon the pommel of his sword solemnly. “I deserve to be relieved of my duties as Commander.”

Unfortunately, Niamh realized that was likely to open up its own set of problems. 

Just as there were those among the mages whose loyalty was reserved solely for Niamh, there were soldiers and Templars among their military forces who were strictly loyal to Cullen. It was a trickier prospect than she preferred to deal with, but she realized things couldn’t simply remain as they were. A pillar could not continue to stand if part of its foundation was already beginning to crumble after all. 

“I respect your decision to forgo using lyrium, but as to your resignation, I’d like you to give the matter a bit more consideration.” When his head jerked up in surprise at her words, she continued. “While you are making the choice of your own volition, I realize there are those under your command who might see the matter differently were I just to suddenly remove you as the leader to our military forces. Seeker Pentaghast mentioned that Templars have never truly made their suffering known, especially when it came to those who held their lyrium leash. She believes you have a strong chance of breaking it, however, and I’m inclined to believe her. Considering the consequences involved with withdrawal, I don’t think you’d be doing this otherwise to simply prove a point. It will be its own challenge, and I will not burden you with more than you're able to deal with. I would like to ease you away from the position of leadership while still also allowing you to mentor those under your command until you're ready to step away entirely,” she explained before canting her head thoughtfully. “Consider someone to eventually succeed you, and let them shadow you for a time so that they might understand what this role requires. I imagine your [former Templar recruit Lysette](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m5BD_ImiTxo) might make for a good fit.”

Cullen blinked, but he didn’t otherwise seem too opposed to the idea. “I didn’t realize you were both familiar with one another.”

“While I’m away more often than I’d like to be these days, I _do_ make it a point to speak to more than just my inner circle and mage allies. In fact, when we were still based in Haven, Lysette was probably one of the few Templars open to conversation with me, and she always had something kind to say whenever I returned from one of my missions. I can’t say that the Inquisition will last forever, but she’s demonstrated enough of an open mind that those of our mage forces would likely be receptive to her. She has the makings of a great leader. Offering her this type of opportunity would only aid in honing those qualities.” Niamh shrugged then. “Or you can also ask if Commander Helaine might be willing to co-lead with you. I believe your troops have responded well to her thus far.”

“This… is a lot to consider,” he said, still dumbfounded, causing her lips to draw up faintly into a smile.

“Be thankful that I only gave you two options,” she quipped dryly. “I might not have been opposed to asking Seeker Pentaghast as well, but you likely know as well as I do that she desires nothing to do with the position. Her attention is elsewhere enough as it is, especially given the disappearance of many within her own order.” She waved a hand then. “In any case, this isn’t something you need to decide this very moment.”

“Of course.” He nodded gratefully. “Thank you for the chance at the very least.”

“Well, you managed to surprise me—not an easy feat at any rate,” she admitted. “However, in this journey toward bettering yourself, I ask that you not forget those you’ve wronged in the past.”

His eyes widened with more than a hint of fear tinged within them, understanding what she meant. “She… I took Lady Bethany away from her family! She won’t wish to see me!” he argued.

“The best path forward is not always the easiest one, Commander. That you made the attempt at all would speak well of your character, but I won’t lie: she may not want anything to do with you at all.” In fact, Niamh suspected that as overprotective as Hawke was, she likely wouldn’t welcome the sight of Cullen anywhere near her little sister. It was understandable certainly, especially considering the intertwined history involved between them all. She turned her gaze skyward to mull over an idea. “Sometimes actions speak louder than words, however. Hm. Actually, if you and your men would like to help me in a small matter, I would appreciate it.”

“Yes?”

“Well, as we often send our forces out to rather distant regions, I’d like to see if they might be able to find some children’s books. Bethany mentioned that while the library we have here is more than she could have expected, much of the contents wouldn't be nearly as enticing to a young mind, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Oh. Um.” Cullen rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “I… I suppose so?” 

“Good. Ask your men if they’d be able to find something a child might like. As I’ve already brought up the idea to our ambassador some days prior for her own contacts to aid with, rest assured that our own forces will be properly compensated with my personal thanks for their help.”

“Of course. I’ll pass the message along.”

She nodded. “Thank you. Now then, as there’s a matter I need our Spymaster’s help with, I must take my leave, but do enjoy the rest of your day, Commander.”

* * *

Weaver winced, ears twitching as he heard the sharp caw from the raven perched at the edge of Sister Leliana’s table. “If you would just let me leave, you won’t have to deal with me being in your presence anymore! No need for the fuss, really!”

In response, he received a low, vicious hiss—disturbingly cat-like in its delivery. 

After several years of working for Sister Leliana, he had long learned that ravens were capable of mimicking a variety of sounds along with being remarkably intelligent overall, which was likely why his employer seemed to favor them so much. Of the sounds the ravens could make, Weaver had also learned—rather accidentally—that they could mimic certain phrases as well.

[…As had been the case when he’d been up in the rookery in the middle of the night with no one else around, and one of the ravens quite literally told him, “Hello.”](https://youtu.be/2d3dOam9Hg4?t=28)

He’d nearly fallen over the circular railing at the sudden shock of it, wondering at first if there was a specter within such an old fortress, and Weaver swore a few of the ravens made noises akin to laughter following that. A number of other agents had similar stories, and while most of the ravens were otherwise agreeable in demeanor, Baron Plucky—Sister Leliana’s most prized raven—was not.

Weaver had only been in the rookery to drop off a few boxes of supplies in the back, but the Baron wouldn’t let him go anywhere near the stairs leading back down into the library afterward. He was well-known for not liking his space invaded by any means.

“If you would just hop up in your cage for a few moments, I can easily give you wide berth, and then everything will be fine!” he offered in hopeful compromise as he slowly tiptoed closer. His eyes widened then in dread when the raven’s hissing intensified as his wings flared, feathers ruffled with agitation. “Or not! Or _not!”_ he yelped, retreating and thereby undoing any minuscule progress he’d made.

The raven then slowly settled his wings back against his sides again, but he never stopped glaring at Weaver with those dark, beady eyes. 

Weaver sighed. It honestly didn’t help that all of Sister Leliana’s ravens were roughly the size of cats, and Baron Plucky was easily the largest of them all. As such, he made for quite the imposing sight whenever he was that angry. _Which is more often than I’d like…_

The first time he had tried to attach a message to the raven’s leg had been an absolute nightmare, for the Baron would have nothing to do with him and had made a fuss the entire time—so much so that it had drawn the attention of Sister Leliana. Weaver had nearly died on the spot when she had snatched the note out of his hand—he hadn’t even seen or heard her approach!—and simply cooed at Baron Plucky. Upon being beckoned, the raven proceeded to flutter up to her shoulder and rub his head against hers, crooning gently, sweet as could be, while Weaver's own jaw dropped in response. Truly, he had no idea how the woman had managed such a feat with Baron Plucky or the rest of her flock of ravens for that matter, whom all seemed to adore her. 

He was still convinced it was some manner of blood magic. 

“Weaver?”

He jolted himself out of his thoughts at the call of his name, and he looked toward the stairs to see the Inquisitor standing there, looking at him curiously. 

“Were you speaking to someone?” she asked.

“Oh! Uh, I was talking to… the bird... there,” he said haltingly, grimacing when he realized how odd that sounded to his ears, which twitched when he saw Baron Plucky turn his head so that he was staring both at him and the Inquisitor within his peripheral vision, huffing quietly. 

The woman blinked. “Ah. Well. I don’t suppose you’ve seen Sister Leliana about, have you? I was hoping to obtain her help with something.”

“Unfortunately, I haven’t seen her since earlier this afternoon, my lady. I was only up here to bring in some supplies. I’m supposed to be making a few rounds around Skyhold’s perimeter, but, um…”

“Is there a problem?”

Weaver pointed meekly at Baron Plucky. “He… doesn’t like it when I go near him. I can’t even get close to the stairs before he starts getting huffy,” he said, and when the Inquisitor’s pale eyes fell to the raven in question, he cringed when he saw Baron Plucky tense in place immediately at the attention.

“Hm. I see…” The Inquisitor idly began pulling individually at the leather covering each of her fingertips before managing to gently tug her glove off, settling it along the belt of her sash.

Baron Plucky hadn’t turned his head away from Weaver, so he simply stared at the Inquisitor with one unblinking eye, which soon narrowed at the woman’s slow approach, and Weaver's heart sank when he then saw her reach out to him. The raven flared his wings, fluttering abruptly—an indication that he would retaliate!

“Ah! Please be careful, my lady! He’s not very friendly!” he cautioned, his panic quickly growing.

But it seemed his words weren't to be heeded, and Weaver soon feared the infuriated squawk he’d hear along with the sound of a vicious beak snapping at eyes and fingers alike. _This is how I die,_ he thought despairingly. _He’ll pluck one of her eyes out, and Sister Leliana will know it was my fault, and then she’ll have me gutted in some dark corner, or—_

Instead of deafening violence, however, that beak snapped close with a soft, startled croon as the Inquisitor gently pressed the tips of her fingers against the back of Baron Plucky’s neck. Weaver then watched—wide-eyed—as she then caressed the feathers there in slow, deep motions, which the raven seemed to appreciate, as his eyes closed briefly at the sensation. The woman hummed with satisfaction, and she made to pull away, but Baron Plucky cawed in protest, immediately following after her touch with little hops along the table. Weaver could see that the Inquisitor was smiling openly as she resumed her petting of him.

“Ah, I see you’ve met Baron Plucky.”

Weaver nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard Sister Leliana’s voice, and he whirled his head around to see her standing just a body’s length behind him. _Where did she even come from?!_ It couldn’t have been from the balcony; he would have seen the door open. Save for the stairs, there was no other place she could have entered.

…Wasn’t there?

The Inquisitor turned to the raven with newfound delight then. “So _you’re_ the Baron, are you? A pleasure it is indeed to meet you. Given our respective schedules, we always seem to miss one another, don’t we? I’m so glad we could finally rectify that. Leliana speaks so highly of you after all.”

Baron Plucky fluttered his wings to fly up to her shoulder. Once there, he gingerly sidestepped his way toward her head, where he immediately began preening at her hair. He didn’t even seem to mind the slight jostling of his newfound perch when the woman began laughing.

“What can I do for you, Niamh?”

“Hm? Ah, Lady Montilyet and I had been hoping to get your help in obtaining some information about a noble so that it might be used against him.”

“Is this the same noble from earlier?”

Weaver felt his heart flutter for more reasons than one when he saw the very slow smile pulling at the Inquisitor’s lips along with the gleam of lazy satisfaction in her eyes. “The very one,” she confirmed. 

“Hmph. He’s of minor nobility, but his family has been into a few scandals over the years from what I recall. I’ll send a few letters out to my agents stationed near that province. Ah. You can go now, Weaver,” Sister Leliana said as she stepped around him to head back toward her desk. “I can handle things from here.”

“O-of course!”

He bowed his head to both women, and as he made his way toward the stairs, he still made sure to give Baron Plucky wide berth, but the raven seemed more determined in grooming the Inquisitor than terrorizing him. Weaver didn’t understand it; he was certain the raven didn’t have room for anyone in his cold heart other than Sister Leliana. Then, as he recalled rumors of the Inquisitor supposedly studying necromancy, he all but tripped down the stairs.

 _Knew it,_ he thought, nodding to himself sagely as he came to his conclusion. _Blood magic._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this update comes a bit later than I would like it to. Dumb me forgot my upload schedule fell upon a holiday week, so to say things got a bit hectic is honestly such an understatement. In any case, I still managed to write about 42 pages this time while avoiding relatives, so it was a productive holiday at least! Lol!
> 
> So how many of you were actually surprised by Niamh's canon specialization here? ;D 
> 
> Before I actually began contemplating about making Niamh's story into a fic, I originally chose Necromancer during her playthrough simply because I already played a Knight-Enchanter on a previous mage run and wanted to do something different. Then, when I was determined to keep to as much as Niamh's playthrough as possible while writing OtSttCA, I was like, "...Oh. I'm going to have to find a way to work with this, aren't I?" I definitely hope I was convincing as to why Niamh wouldn't have chosen any of the other paths available to her in this chapter! 
> 
> Honestly, I was not expecting to have as much fun playing a Necromancer as I did, but with the right armor, weapon, and skill tree specs, I found that I could do massive amounts of damage! :D Sure, Niamh can't tank damage like a Knight-Enchanter can, but with perhaps the exception of a dual-wielding Artificer, a lightning-based Necromancer might have one of the highest overall DPS numbers in the game. I'll reveal a little more about how Niamh actually utilizes her new abilities in the next chapter.
> 
> Anyway, enough of my rambling! Thanks as always for your patience! Hope you all enjoyed this, and I can't wait to hear your thoughts! Until next time, dear readers! :D


	20. Bury My Love in the Moondust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> News of Niamh's Necromancer specialization has been made public around Skyhold. As such, she has to deal with the reactions from her inner circle regarding them even as old hurts and insecurities spring up, threatening to undo her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: brief mention of a pet/companion death about halfway through the chapter. It will be in the section with Leliana's POV.

Dorian looked absolutely pleased with himself, sparing Niamh a glance every few moments when they stopped for a rest at a nearby lake. It drew her attention away from where Bull and Sera were doing… something that involved blowing air into their empty water skins almost to point of bursting. Then again, any antics involving them both were perhaps better not analyzed too closely.

“I _knew_ you liked me,” her friend finally announced with such profound flair that it had Niamh shaking her head in mild fondness even as she indulged him. 

“Of course I do. What gave you reason to think otherwise?”

“Well, did you know Skyhold’s betting pool was largely in favor of you choosing Knight-Enchanter training?”

“Ah, and you clearly bet on yourself,” she surmised dryly.

“Of course I did! Have you not seen me in all my magical splendor?” He paused briefly to buff his fingernails smugly on his travel robes. “I came away with quite the hefty prize in the end might I add. Shame I had to split it with the other winner though.”

“Oh? Who else bet on me training in necromancy?

Dorian merely flashed her a smirk. “Your Spymaster of course,” he revealed. “In fact, I think she was the one who sent for Anaxas to begin with.”

Niamh blinked. “That… actually makes a surprising amount of sense,” she admitted. “I had doubts that either the quartermaster or Lady Montilyet would have sent for a Mortalitasi to come train me themselves.”

But Leliana had always proven remarkably adept at seeing past the surface of any matter. 

She was a woman who took every minute detail into consideration, for she understood that the best answers were not always the easiest. Even with the stigma surrounding the Necromancer class, Leliana likely saw enough within it that could have appealed to Niamh’s inner scholar, making it as strong a candidate as any of the other paths that had been offered to her than a mere afterthought. 

The sound of light splashing and laughter drew her gaze to their other companions. Sera was whooping in absolute delight while Bull scowled next to her, pointing to the water skins floating along the lake’s surface and demanding a rematch. Niamh arched a brow at that, but as she peered closer, she saw that one of the skins in question had a small stack of stones sitting atop it in a semi-neat tower while the other was suspiciously free of any cargo, bobbling somewhat erratically from the sudden displacement of water.

“You managed to surprise him, you know,” Dorian said then quietly, amused at the scene before them. “Not an easy feat by any means. Ordinarily, I think he’d consider the loss of the betting pool a blow to his pride, but given who the winners were, I’d say he’s proven remarkably gracious.”

“I think that has more to do with you than Leliana, Dorian.”

“So you say,” he said, waving away her comment with almost believable casualness. “He’s never been shy about voicing his appreciation over the beauty of redheads. While women aren’t my preference, I can’t exactly fault his taste.” The corner of his lip curled up as he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

Niamh unconsciously held her breath as the comment washed over her. She determinedly kept her gaze forward, focusing on Bull and Sera in the distance, worried that the answer to Dorian’s question would be visible in her eyes. She couldn’t even begin to admit how long she had been harboring such affections for Leliana, but even a decade after Saoirse’s ashes had been scattered to the winds, Niamh found herself coveting endlessly for the life and love that could have been hers. 

It was just as well, she supposed. 

Back then, she couldn’t have bound Leliana to her in such a way. It would have meant shackling the other woman's ambitions, and she had always known that Leliana was destined for so much more. Her titles as Nightingale of Imperial Court and Left Hand of the Divine were evidence enough of that.

[Thus, to avoid her heart’s temptation—to ensure her presence wouldn’t come to ruin the woman she loved—Niamh removed herself from the situation entirely.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WugfwayzeN8) While it had been admittedly an impulsive decision on her part to leave after Saoirse’s death, her sister had given her the means to do so in more ways than one, and Niamh had taken the opportunity without hesitation. 

It didn’t mean she hadn’t missed Leliana however.

Those first few weeks had been the hardest, especially as she traveled through lands that had been as unfamiliar to her as the country of her birth after all her time spent away in an isolated tower. At times, Niamh still found herself turning to Leliana—to either make an idle comment or pose a question—only to see no one there, briefly panicking before remembering that she had left her behind in Ferelden along with the rest of her past. The stark realization of those moments never failed to fill with aching anguish, but there was nothing to be done, and so she was left to forge on alone.

She found Leliana in other ways throughout the years—perhaps not in the physical sense but in the ways often influenced by memory and longing.

Niamh saw the color of Leliana’s hair every time the sun rose to meet the day—a rush of reds dancing along the horizon that filled her with same warmth that was always so prevalent around the other woman.

She saw her eyes in crystal clear lakes, reflecting the endless eternity of the blue skies above them.

And she heard her singing in the quiet rush of babbling brooks and streams, where Niamh could recall those long nights of sitting along a campfire as a voice of such beauty filled the air. 

All were moments to ease the shattering reality of her lonely existence. 

“…sland? Cousland?”

She was jolted out of her reverie when a hand clasped itself over her shoulder, shaking her lightly. Niamh found herself glancing at Dorian, whose expression was drawn in concern. To her embarrassment, it seemed that she had been so lost in her thoughts that Bull and Sera had also turned their attention her way, their game long forgotten.

“Are you alright?” Dorian asked, frowning. “I called your name at least half a dozen different times.”

“Yes,” she said even as pulse continued to pound loudly in her ears—thrumming to the ever-present beat of her guilty heart. “I apologize. I’ve just had a lot on my mind as of late. News that Corypheus may be involved with the disappearance of the Wardens has done little to settle my nerves,” she offered in explanation, but Dorian didn’t seem completely convinced. His gaze still held a question within them, but he let the matter go graciously enough. 

“I see. Well. Once this is all over, I’d say we’re all owed quite the long, overdue vacation. Not that I’m particularly biased, but I think you’d quite like it in Tevinter.” He smiled at her. “With all I’ve seen you capable of, many would no doubt flock to you. Why, you’d be the most talked about mage in all the country!”

She somehow doubted that. As such, she couldn’t help her brief laughter even as she slipped into the easy banter her friend offered. “Besides you, of course,” she drawled.

“Well, that goes without saying, yes,” he said matter-of-factly, practically preening beneath the very knowledge of it. “Believe me, my friend, you’ll be in for quite the surprise. Everything outside of Tevinter will seem abominably quaint in comparison.”

* * *

“Sooo…” Sera began as they headed back to camp following the incident in Verchiel, but it was the clear hesitation Niamh heard within that single word that drew her own attention toward her friend. “Heard you were all done with your new mage thing.” Sera glanced at her out of the corner of her eye. “The… extra magic stuff and whatnot.”

“Yes. My instructor returned to his homeland after he felt my training was complete,” she revealed. “As I had already been familiar with some of the spells associated with necromancy, he only had a few new ones to teach me.” 

Mortalitasi held such a venerated role in Nevarra that it was remarkably rare for them to ever leave the country to begin with. As such, Niamh wasn’t the least bit surprised when Anaxas announced that he would likely be gone once she and her party returned to Skyhold. As any instructor with their pupil, he held great pride at how quickly she took to his lessons, and while he regretted that he wouldn’t be able to see her further hone her abilities, he offered aid in the form of another mage.

 _“Sidony is the ward of an acquaintance of mine, and I imagine your Spymaster would find her prowess in stealth quite useful in addition to her magical expertise,”_ he had told her during their last lesson together. _“Like you, she is young and ever looking to grow her pool of knowledge, but I fear that Nevarra may prove too stagnant for one of such boundless energy. As such, I feel it would be remiss of me to not at least recommend her a role here.”_

More allies certainly couldn’t hurt their cause at any rate, and she knew that Leliana likely wouldn’t turn down additional aid, especially if it led to her expanding her information network. 

“Neevy.” Sera idly kicked a stone off to the side as they continued walking languidly, but the other woman was also wringing her hands together—something she often did when she was either gathering her thoughts or when she was nervous. In this case, it seemed to be a matter of both as she looked up to her uncertainly. “Maybe you shouldn’t use your new powers too much, yeah?”

Niamh tilted her head curiously. “Is there a reason why I shouldn’t?”

“Why you sh—What do you mean _why?!”_ she demanded, frowning deeply. “What exactly about this necro-whatever thing makes you think it would even be the slightest bit okay?!”

“Necromancer,” she corrected gently, raising a brow. “It’s a class that studies and specializes in the manipulation of spirits, which—given how often we run into demons and the like when closing rifts—would prove rather useful, yes?”

“Not! Helping!” Sera argued, jabbing her finger pointedly against the thick leather of her traveling coat in emphasis. “Neevy, I don’t even understand half the stuff you’re capable of doing most of the time, but anyone smart enough to think about it for second would know this necro magic is scary business! You’re the Inquisitor, so you shouldn’t be scary! I mean, yeah, _I_ know you, but everyone else? They’re not going to understand! They’ll talk!”

“That comes with being a mage unfortunately. People are always going to talk about me whether I like it or not.”

The other woman crossed her arms then, outright scowling at her. “Stop acting like it doesn’t bother you, Neevy, because I know it does!”

And it did.

Much as she tried to ignore the rumors, they still pressed too closely to the wound that was still healing from Cullen’s words years ago, where the best of her intentions could be questioned endlessly. It didn’t help that Necromancers weren’t well understood outside of Nevarra, and many likened the class to death rather than recognizing the spiritual force behind it.

There was a high possibility her fellow mages would find fault within her for her newest specialization, and she’d consequently be ostracized for it. Niamh sighed.

“Sera, I may not agree with them, but they have a right to think as they please. So long as they’re not using their beliefs to actively hurt people, I can’t stop them from forming an opinion—no matter how baseless it might be.” She shook her head gently. “This isn’t like Corypheus or his Red Templars, who would see all the world subjected and then destroyed to his whims. I have more power and influence than I could have ever hoped to have, yes, but I never want to be the type of person who would take someone’s choice away in such a manner.”

"And I’m not saying you need to give someone a good wallop about the head to make a point, but—" Sera pursed her lips before moving to stand directly in Niamh’s path, stopping her entirely. “Look, there aren’t enough arrows on Thedas for me to go around shooting people who want to feel all big by being mean, little shits behind your back—let alone the ones outside of Skyhold!” She waved her hands in front of her, agitation in every movement she made. “Not that I’d actually shoot anyone there because I know you’d be upset, but still!”

Niamh blinked languidly as she tried to parse through the underlying message before her. “So you’re not worried about me; you’re worried _for_ me?”

The other woman placed her hands on her hips as she glared up at her. “Isn’t that what I just said?! C’mon, Neevy! Keep up!”

“Sera, I wasn’t exactly keeping my training with Anaxas a secret. Given the negative connotations surrounding the specialization in general, I already knew what rumors would likely circulate once I dedicated my complete time to it.” Her brows knit together in concern. “Why is this really bothering you?”

“Because! Because I…” And then as Sera thought of her reasoning, it seemed a lot of the fight seemed to leave her. Her shoulders drooped as she averted her gaze with what looked like shame. “…I used to think like them. Back in Haven, I said a bad thing about mages and their magic to you…”

Still thoroughly confused, Niamh racked her mind in an attempt to recall the conversation in question. As they often spoke in the village’s tavern back then, she tried to concentrate on the memories made there, and she finally caught the edge of an old one.

 _“Do you have a problem with our new allies?”_ Niamh had asked not long after the brought the mages from Redcliffe into the Inquisition’s fold. _“With mages?”_

 _“No problem with them at all,”_ Sera responded, confusion clear as day her features, perhaps wondering why she was even being asked. _“I mean, you’re fine, right? My problem is_ magic.” She shrugged. _”Look, if mages just sat on their hands, everything would be fine. Yay for freedom and all that. Great for them, but just keep the magic stuff away from me.”_

“Ugh, and it was such a stupid thing to say!” Sera growled out, which drew Niamh out of her thoughts, especially as the other woman began pacing. “And, yeah, I know you and the mages better now, but you—” She raised her hands briefly and then threw them back down to her sides in utter frustration at herself. “You didn’t deserve any of that! Necro-something or not, you’re kind and sweet, and those shitheads back at Skyhold shouldn’t be saying bad stuff about you when all you’re the only big person who gives a piss about setting the world right again!”

It was apparent now that Niamh had more than just Cole to deal with regarding her new Necromancer abilities. As busy as she had been with her training, she hadn’t even accounted for the concerns from the rest of her inner circle as of yet. 

“From your words, it seems you’re telling me that you no longer believe as you once did, yes?” 

“Of course not!”

“Then there’s no longer a problem here, is there?”

“What? It can’t just be that simple!”

“Why not?” she questioned. “I can’t very well fault you for a belief you no longer have.”

“But I thought…” Sera trailed off, pure confusion in her gaze as her brows knit together in consternation. “…I thought that was why you were angry at General Uptight.”

 _'General Up'—Oh._ Niamh flashbacked to the incident several days ago outside the tavern. Given that Sera often hung about on the second floor of the Herald's Rest, there was little chance she could have missed the confrontation or the words that had been exchanged. While Niamh had regretted that Bethany and her young charges had been exposed to such vitriol in a place that was supposed to be a safe environment for them, she hadn’t considered that more than the children could have been affected by it. 

Sera was somehow likening herself to Cullen, which couldn’t have been further from the truth. Niamh sighed. _So this is why she’s been acting so strangely during this entire trip..._

“It's... more complicated than that," she admitted reluctantly. "I knew the Commander from when we were both a part of Ferelden's Circle, years before the Blight ever began. Despite our respective roles there, we were friends, and I took that to mean that he thought well of me—mage or no—but…” Her lips thinned as she recalled the older memories as well as the words that had shattered any illusion that their friendship could have been salvaged. “Something happened, and his perspective toward my people changed. When he next looked upon me, he didn’t see a friend anymore,” she whispered. “He saw a monster instead—someone he needed to destroy. I never forgot that moment, and neither did he. It’s been a point of contention for us ever since.”

Sera looked upon her with wide eyes at the revelation. She likely knew that Niamh wasn’t as close to Cullen as she was to her other advisors on her War Council but had never really understood why until then. She couldn’t have known that it had once been a matter of life and death. 

“I never blamed you for your initial hesitation toward me or my people, Sera—not when the Chantry so thoroughly controlled how the world saw us. If all you’ve ever been taught is to fear magic, then some wariness is to be expected,” she said quietly, saddened by the thought. “With the Commander, I was angry with him because he knew me for _years,_ but all it took was a single incident—one I had no part in—for him to question my right to live. Having said that…” Niamh trailed off briefly as she regarded her friend curiously. “I believe we’ve known each other long enough for you to gather an opinion of me. Tell me: now that you’ve seen what I’m capable of in regards to my magic, do you see me as a threat that needs to be eliminated?”

“No!” The answer was given without hesitation. If anything, Sera seemed absolutely horrified at the very idea of hurting her in such a way. “I mean, I admit to knowing piss all about magic, but you—” She paused, her expression steeling itself with resolve. “Look, you’re not like Coryphefuss! Even with all your magic stuff, you wouldn’t use it to try and destroy the friggin’ world! You’re the exact opposite; you go out of your way to help people even when they’ve never been anything but complete arses to you!” she emphasized. “I don’t want to be like them!”

“That you’ve been so concerned regarding this proves to me that you’re not.”

“I…” Sera frowned. “What?”

“You were comparing yourself to our Commander and the people of Haven because you were worried of hurting me as they once did. Back then, the Commander didn’t care that I had never fallen under the thrall of a demon before threatening my life.” She shrugged. “Nor did the people at Haven care there was no evidence showing I had any part in the Divine’s death or the Breach before they tried to take my judgment into their own hands.” 

Sera immediately flinched at that, and Niamh chided herself for the cavalier comment, especially when she realized just how often the other woman sought her out following Haven's fall—always keeping her within her line of sight during these missions outside of Skyhold. Thus, it was perhaps too soon to be so glib about such things, and she made a mental note to correct such behavior going forward. 

“I will admit they’ve both changed to some degree, but if they are capable of change, then I need you to understand that you are as well,” she insisted. “You don’t need to keep comparing yourself to other people or worry about somehow offending me. I would have said something long before now if that had been the case.”

“Just like that then? It’s just supposed to be that easy?”

“Sera, if I was able to have you see mages differently despite everything you’ve ever been told about us, then that’s evidence enough in my mind that the world itself is capable of change. Perhaps not at the pace I’d prefer, but it is still progress. As long as you understand that our place within it is of no threat to you and that my intentions—no matter how unconventional—are good, then I have no real reason to be angry with you.”

Much of Sera’s earlier frustration and confusion seemed to drain from her at those words, and while her shoulders began to release the tension that had been knotted through them, her gaze was still sullen as she regarded Niamh. “Why do you always have to be so understanding?”

Niamh blinked, considering the question for a moment. “I... suppose I have a harder time taking offense to simple ignorance from someone actively trying to help me than, say, a cleric or noble who openly denounces my name but does nothing to provide a solution that would help the public at large.”

Her friend simply looked down at her own hands, where she was wringing them together, thumbs brushing over callouses that were hard-earned after so many years of practicing archery. “Even when all I can do is shoot arrows?” she asked hesitantly, which caused Niamh to frown lightly in reproach.

“You don’t _just_ shoot arrows, Sera. When the Breach first appeared, you didn’t care that the Chantry condemned me at every turn. Your strongest desire was to simply help, and you’ve done so at every step of the way—not just for the sake of the Inquisition but for those outside it as well. You and your Red Jennies aid the most vulnerable in ways that I never would have even thought of, and you have never been afraid to express that sentiment against the authority responsible for their plight.” The corners of her lips turned up into a smile when the other woman jerked her head back up toward her in stunned disbelief. “And when it comes to raising the morale of those in the Inquisition, I freely admit that no one accomplishes that quite like you.” Niamh reached out to clasp Sera’s shoulders gently. “You don’t have to question your place with us, and you certainly don’t need to force yourself to do more than you’re willing to give just to be my friend. You being yourself is more than enough for me.”

Niamh saw the sheen of wetness across the surface of Sera’s eyes, and she softened her own gaze in turn even as the other woman’s words broke with the emotions overtaking her. 

“Yeah? Y-you mean that?”

“Always.”

And her friend’s composure fell completely with the admission. Her breathing hitched, and Sera stepped forward beneath her hands and simply fell into her arms, hiding herself in the leather of her coat. Niamh said nothing as she hugged her, allowing her as much time as she needed to compose herself.

Of everyone within her inner circle, it was an unspoken fact that Sera was considered one of the most eccentric as well as the most blunt of her companions. Niamh envied that about her—of the luxury of being able to speak so freely when she had spent a lifetime being deprived of such a basic right. Even now, Niamh was still trying to condition herself away from such an ingrained habit, but there were certainly days where she wished she could have been half as outspoken and direct as Sera, who was unafraid to stand her ground and prove she had a right to her place in the world as much as anyone else.

But Sera was also young. 

By the other woman’s own admission, she had only been a child during the last Blight. She couldn’t even recall the identity of the Hero of Ferelden—only knowing that she had died to save them all. Then, when Niamh had revealed the matter to her…

* * *

_“Is that why I always see you looking so sad when you think no one else is watching you?” she asked one late afternoon when they were both hidden away in Sera’s little corner of the tavern._

_She always seemed to have a knack for surprising her with such keen observations._

_“It’s one of the reasons certainly—why I fight as hard as I do,” Niamh replied, pacing herself with the alcohol that had been shared with her. It was apparently some new concoction created by one of Sera’s fellow Jennies, and they always had quite the kick to them. It created a mellow warmth within her that she found pleasing, but even in Skyhold, she never allowed herself to overindulge. “I can’t let Corypheus destroy the very world my sister gave her life to protect.”_

_And Sera had been quiet for a moment as she allowed such knowledge to settle over her._

_She had been drinking two mugs for every one of Niamh’s, so she was a tad inebriated. Niamh could recognize it in the very deliberate way she slowly reached out to touch her shoulder, seeking to provide comfort and to also murmur her sincere condolences for the loss that still pained Niamh to remember._

* * *

In any case, youth or no, it was apparent Sera had her own insecurities just like anyone else, but she took great pains into not allowing others to see them. They were both alike in that way. That Niamh hadn’t recognized it before then was cause enough for frustration.

“I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like you weren’t good enough to be a part of the Inquisition,” she said softly, but Sera merely shook her head against her.

“You never did that. It was just me being dumb,” she assured, her reply muffled against her coat before she finally summoned enough strength to pull away. She used the ball of her palms to wipe away at her tears, still sniveling somewhat. “You’re the first friend I ever had outside of the Jennies—someone who liked me just for being me. I don’t get that a lot.” 

“Their loss then.”

“Stop it, you. If you make me cry again, I’m going to smack you with my bow,” Sera said, glaring up with her, eyes red from her tears, but Niamh smiled upon seeing that familiar fire within them.

“Duly noted,” she quipped, humor in her voice as they continued their walk back to camp. “I know our goal at hand won’t be the easiest thing to accomplish by any means of the imagination, but if it’s any consolation, I'd like to thank you for your continued support.”

“Yeah. Well.” Sera muttered to herself as she glanced off to the side. From the slight blush on her features, it seemed she was embarrassed with the unexpected praise. “Someone has to if the silly, old gits in stupid chantry hats and robes can’t be bothered. I was being serious about the lack of arrows though. I’m just going to have to start smacking people with my bow at this point if they keep talking badly about you.” She narrowed her eyes up at her briefly. “Why couldn’t you have chosen a less scarier thing to train in? You could’ve been like Vivvy—all Knight Magictress or something. I thought that was why you had so many of them around.”

Niamh blinked. “I think most people assumed that actually.” She shrugged. “Originally, I wasn’t even going to bother specializing in anything since there were more pressing matters to attend to. I’ve always enjoyed learning for the sake of it though even if it happens to deal with subjects I may never have a chance to put into practice. I suppose had I never been born with magic, I could see myself content with dedicating my life to studies in academia. As it is, I get to learn about a facet of magic that most of my people never get a chance to experience. Given that we already had so many Knight-Enchanters who know their power and craft, it just made the most sense to me to specialize in something else.”

“I guess so…” Sera murmured somewhat reluctantly. She glanced at her. “I mean, yeah, it’s different, but different doesn’t always have to mean bad, right?”

“Precisely. Honestly, barring most circumstances, the most you’ll ever see me use is the same kind of magic I’ve demonstrated to you thus far.” 

She then focused her attention on a tree nearby—its bark still wet from earlier rainfall. She waved her hand in its direction, allowing her magic to seep through the rough crevices and influence the moisture within them out. Several thin stems of ice began curling out from the thick wood, and at each apex, the cool ribbons folded over themselves in several groups, forming petals until an intricate arrangement of icy flowers could be seen. There, they would likely remain until the sun rose to whisk them away back into the ether. 

Niamh smiled when she heard her friend’s awed intake of breath. While necromancy was still relatively new to her, the fact she had such fine control over her elemental magic—and that she could demonstrate it in non-violent means—was ever a point of pride for her. 

“Dorian still has a great more experience than I do as a Necromancer, and he’ll likely be using the spells within the class as it was intended whereas my focus with it will be more…” She tilted her head to and fro, searching for an appropriate word. “…unconventional.”

Sera frowned. “But you used that… fear thing on Arse-biscuit’s men earlier, didn’t you?”

“True. An enemy who is too afraid to fight isn’t in danger of hurting anyone however. I have no issue having to defend myself if need be with my usual tactics, but I didn’t want to risk the remaining servants getting caught in the crossfire. While I have new abilities now, the core of them will likely just be used against oh, say, demons, undead, darkspawn, and—” 

“Red lyrium dragons?” Sera finished with a grin. 

“Don’t remind me…” Niamh rolled her eyes. “Bull’s already informed me—with all his usual enthusiasm—of new reports regarding the one outside Crestwood. He wants to be part of the party when we finally go after it. Normally, I’d be content to simply leave them be, but given that the lyrium has drastically altered their behavior, they’re too dangerous to be left alone.”

Sera simply nodded, and for a time, a comfortable silence settled between them. Then, the other woman glanced at her out of the corner of her eye.

“That was… smart of you, y’know? Not just scaring the piss out of Arse-biscuit’s men without even having to lift a finger, I mean.” She skipped ahead a few steps, walking backwards but keeping her eyes on Niamh. There was no mistaking the other woman’s pleased grin. “Making that prick work under you now… You pulled it all off so well, and you made it look so easy! I bet he thought he was going to get away with everything too!” 

“Ah. I’d just figure a man like him would hate losing at his own game is all. Although…” She trailed off with a grimace. “Now I’m going to have to think of a suitable apology to our ambassador once we get back to Skyhold.”

“What?” Sera’s face scrunched up in confusion. “I thought you did it to stop all the fighting. Was that not the reason why?”

“Well, it’s more that I acquired land in the Inquisition’s name when I requisitioned it from Harmond.”

“And that’s not a good thing?”

“It’s… Hm.” Niamh paused briefly to gather her thoughts. “Our main goal should still be defeating Corypheus, and I’d rather not be responsible for more than I’d have to be at this point. Even should we succeed, I’d rather not have half of southern Thedas questioning my motives.” She rolled her eyes. “It wasn’t that long ago that they were up in arms over my being a mage and suspected me of using my influence to start an uprising with the rebels as my personal, magical army. I'm not about to be accused of land-mongering atop of it. Still, make no mistake: I’m happy that we were able to put a stop to his and his rival’s petty squabbling, but I am sorry that we weren’t able to get here fast enough to prevent them from hurting others.” She looked to Sera then, hoping she might understand. “This was probably the best method I had to ensuring the most vulnerable parties involved could be safe.”

“Y’know what, Neevy?”

“Hm?”

“Your job sounds like complete nugshit to deal with.”

The comment and its deadpan delivery managed to startle a laugh out of her, but Niamh certainly didn’t disagree with the sentiment. Being the Inquisitor felt like it was more trouble than it was worth at times. “And to think I never even asked for it,” she said in droll reply. 

Sera altered her path so that she walking back at her side again. She brushed her shoulder up against hers, but there wasn’t enough force behind the motion to break her stride. “Well, despite everything, I wish more big people were like you.”

Niamh arched a brow, still chuckling somewhat. “You do realize I’m still not a noble despite whatever titles they decide to give me, don’t you?”

“No,” Sera agreed slowly even as she glanced at her out of the corner of her eye, “but you’re _you.”_ She shrugged. “So if someone has to save the friggin’ world, they couldn’t have asked for anyone better to do it.”

* * *

Leliana took the stairwell leading up into Niamh’s personal quarters. She knew the other woman had returned with her party the other night, and while most of Skyhold still remained asleep, Niamh had always proven herself to be an early riser. Like Leliana, she rose with the break of dawn—if she hadn’t already been working through the night—and spent the first few hours in preparation for the day.

For Niamh, however, it meant simply time to reassume the public persona required as Inquisitor. Given how quiet and introspective the other woman was by simple nature, it was likely its own challenge, but despite everything, she had eventually settled into the role with as much grace as she approached anything in life. 

She frowned minutely when she didn’t immediately see the other woman upon reaching the top of the stairs. The desk that sat in the opposite corner—where Leliana usually saw Niamh at whenever she visited—was without an occupant behind it. The neat stacks of sealed letters atop the wooden surface suggested that any correspondence outside of Skyhold had already been responded to and were simply waiting to be sent out. 

_Maker forbid she ever be the least bit disorganized. No wonder she and Josie get along so well,_ Leliana thought with some amusement before turning her gaze elsewhere. 

As she took stock of the backwall behind the bed—which had also been empty of Niamh’s presence—Leliana blinked languidly in surprise when the left room closest to the stairs had been completely removed. It had served as an impromptu wine room from what Niamh had told her, filled with old casks, but it was now empty of such things. A bathing tub stood there instead, and the stone wall sealing off the once small room had been taken down along with the wooden overhead planks. In its place was a partition made of stained glass—displaying murals of seasonal imagery—which was likely meant to provide some semblance of privacy. It was curiously half-done as the two panes meant to depict spring and summer sat empty, but Leliana noticed a box nearby that contained several broken glass pieces that would likely be installed into them later.

She tilted her head curiously then, for situated along the balustrade of the stairs was a triptych of mirrors along with several copper sheets—all hammered smooth—which sat on the couch nearby. Leliana couldn’t even begin to guess at the purpose of the latter, but as crafty as Niamh could be, she had no doubt it would be of some artistic significance later.

Still, they didn’t give her any answers as to where the woman could possibly be, and for a moment, she wondered if Niamh had wandered away elsewhere for the morning. Before she could head back down the stairs, however, she heard a faint rustling out along the balcony, which drew her attention there. Silently—out of habit more than anything else—she padded closer toward it before immediately pausing at the doorway, eyes widening at the sight that greeted her, for balancing on her hands atop the stone parapet was Niamh. 

Her body was perpendicular to the length of the railing as she held herself aloft, perfectly parallel to the ground. The other woman kept her position there for several long, heart-stopping moments before shifting the position of her hands, heedless to the fact that a sheer drop awaited her below with a single misstep. 

It was a seamless adjustment, however, and Niamh allowed only her elbows to bend as she maneuvered the length of her body up and down in careful repetition. As Leliana continued observing her, she saw the evident strength that came from years of staffwork as the mage held her own weight easily, lithe arms never quaking even as the muscles beneath the surface—revealed from the loose, sleeveless tunic Niamh wore—continued in their subtle dance. 

After a time, there was a gentle exhale of breath as Niamh straightened her arms beneath herself. Then, she slowly began moving her lower body in a languid arc—legs held together—until her feet were pointed toward the sky. The new position allowed Leliana to see Niamh’s face, which was perfectly calm even as she realized the other woman had her eyes closed throughout the entire exercise, trusting only her own body’s sense of equilibrium to ensure she wouldn’t tip too far forward or back. 

Niamh then proceeded to do the same repetition of arm movements, allowing only her elbows to bend even as the rest of her body remained upside down but vertically upright. From the perspiration gathered at her temples, she had likely been at this for quite some time. 

“You realize if I startled more easily, I likely would have fallen off, don’t you?”

Leliana’s gaze snapped to Niamh’s face when she began speaking, and she saw a familiar, pale gaze watching her with an obvious smile playing on her lips. Leliana allowed her own eyes to roll in turn.

“You already knew I was standing here.”

“Oh?” She paused at the claim, body still elevated with the full stretch of her arms. “What gave me away?”

“You canted your head briefly toward me before starting that first repetition, as if listening for movement.”

Brief laughter escaped Niamh in an exhale of breath, the plume of it visible amidst the cold air. “That obvious, am I?” 

“Only to those who don’t know you well or don’t know what to look for,” she reassured, earning herself a small, thoughtful hum.

“And you _are_ very good at what you do.” 

Apparently satisfied with her training regimen for the morning, Niamh then slowly righted herself, allowing her feet to reach safe ground before heading back into the warmth of her quarters. She sat down on her bed then, content to rest there for the moment, and Leliana couldn’t help but arch a brow at the multitude of furred blankets resting atop it. 

…Not that the heavy stone posts and leather hide canopy weren’t deserving of equal scrutiny.

“You have such an artistic eye. How is it that you didn’t realize the bed clashes terribly with the remaining décor in your room?” she asked dryly.

“It was a gift from those in the Frostback Basin,” Niamh argued. “I would have felt badly about declining it, especially after they carried it all the way here. Besides, I’ve grown fond of it.”

“Oh?”

Humor flashed in those silvery eyes. “Well, a dog lord can never be without too many furs.” She shrugged then. “Still, I imagine that isn’t what you came up here to discuss with me.”

“No,” she admitted. “Josie’s been rather flustered as of late.”

Niamh blinked before her brows rose in gradual realization. “Ah. Regarding my specialization, you mean?”

Leliana nodded. “It’s to be expected, no? You managed to surprise many with your choice.”

Given Niamh’s thoughtful—and even quietly noble—nature, most had been certain that she would have trained under one of the many Knight-Enchanters present at Skyhold, especially given how close she was to Lady Vivienne. 

“But not you apparently since you won the betting pool with Dorian,” Niamh drawled with faint amusement before shaking her head. “No. While being able to form a magical blade at will would be rather useful in certain circumstance, the sword was always more Saoirse’s expertise than mine.”

“But you managed to learn a different way of fighting altogether during your time abroad, didn’t you?” Leliana could still recall the rather unique staves Niamh used prior to commissioning a new one from Dagna. 

“Yes, but the techniques used with a polearm aren’t entirely that different from using a staff in close quarters combat. I managed to bridge both concepts together after awhile.”

“It’s still impressive.”

Niamh gave a small, self-deprecating shrug. “Well, ten years of practice certainly didn’t hurt. There’s not much to do when you spend the vast majority of your time alone.”

She nodded, sadly expecting that to have been the case. “I honestly didn’t expect to ever see you again. No one of our group then knew where you could have gone.”

A faint, melancholic smile danced along her friend's lips. “That was entirely the point. Once I left Ferelden, I knew I’d be labeled an apostate by the Chantry and be hunted down for it. I couldn’t risk letting any of you know of my plans. I didn’t want the Templars and Seekers to harass you all more than necessary.”

“Not that they didn’t try in that regard. Once they realized we were telling the truth, they had no choice but to leave us be.” But there was a small matter that she had always been curious of, and she looked to Niamh in question. “When I became Justinia’s Left Hand several years following that, I briefly went back to Kinloch Hold, wondering if perhaps they had any indication to your location by then. To my surprise, they told me the phylactery that could’ve been used to track you had been missing for quite some time. Curious, no?” She arched a brow at her. “But I always suspected that Zevran knew more than he was willing to tell me.”

“Ah.” Some semblance of sheepishness settled within Niamh’s eyes on behalf of their friend. “Zevran did help me, but I was not the one who requested his aid. Saoirse did. She had apparently asked that he retrieve my phylactery before we left the Tower, but only the ones belonging to apprentices are held there until they undergo their Harrowing. As I passed mine years before Uldred's attempted coup, my phylactery had already been transferred to Denerim to join the collection of other full-fledged mages and Enchanters. Then, while we were there those last few weeks, Zevran managed to find it." She was quiet for a moment. "Saoirse gave it to me that final night. I... suppose she hoped everyone would assume it had simply been destroyed amidst all the chaos. Nevertheless, I shattered it and threw the shards into the sea not long after I left Ferelden. Even then, she was still trying to fight for my right to be free.”

“That certainly seems like something she’d do.” She smiled at the memory of her warrior's kind heart. “First Enchanter Irving was also rather saddened to learn that you disappeared. He told me he had considered you to succeed him when the time came for him to eventually retire,” she revealed, but soft, incredulous laughter met her words.

“I’m sure he was just being polite. The role is usually given to a Senior Enchanter, and I wasn’t even a provisional one back then.”

“I’m sure you would have been in time. You were spoken highly of there.”

“Hm. Perhaps.” Niamh shifted her attention out to the secondary balcony, and Leliana could see a distance settling within that cool, grey gaze that couldn’t be measured as she lost herself to her thoughts. “In truth, I’m not certain the young woman in the Circle was any happier than the one whom finally left it.”

Silence fell between them for a moment before Leliana spoke again.

“Niamh?”

“Hm?”

“Were you truly alone that entire time?”

Something sharp and tangible fell between them then—the unexpected, stinging bite of winter—before the feeling simply faded, leaving Leliana briefly reeling with the sensation. Niamh’s eyes drifted away then.

“I was at first,” Niamh admittedly quietly. “Lorcan managed to track me.”

Leliana’s eyes widened. “Saoirse’s mabari? I had always wondered what became of him.” 

Perhaps she shouldn’t have though. 

Given their sororal affections, the giant warhound had always been Niamh’s companion as much as Saoirse’s. After the funeral, Leliana had recalled that Lorcan had stayed until the pyre had been worn down to its last ember, and then he had laid down beside the ashes, resting a weary head atop his paws. Nothing they did could convince him to move, and after a time, they simply left him to mourn Saoirse’s memory in peace.

By morning, however, he had simply vanished. 

“He found me by the time I reached Amaranthine to board the ship across the Waking Sea,” Niamh continued. “I suppose with Saoirse gone, he considered me his new charge of sorts, but whatever his actual reasons, I was glad for the company.” She smiled briefly. “I knew how to keep from drawing attention to myself after my time with the Templars in the Circle, but having Lorcan about certainly kept more suspicious individuals away from me.”

That was hardly a surprise.

Mabari were infamous for their fierce loyalty, and many had been known to defend their chosen companions to the death. Anyone pressing forth with accusations of a mage in their midst likely would have been deterred at the very sight of such large creatures. Lorcan had been quite notable in that aspect, especially since the top of his head nearly came even with Saoirse’s chest, who already towered over most people. As such, the old warhound had easily been the largest Leliana had ever seen. 

A thought soon gave Leliana pause, however, especially given that Niamh hadn’t been reported to have had anyone traveling with her at the Conclave. Thus, she broached the following subject with care.

“Saoirse told me that mabari are long-lived compared to other dog breeds.” 

“That’s true, yes,” she said almost distractedly. “They’re somewhat magic-touched, considering that their origins date back to the Tevinter Imperium. That grants them some longevity in addition to their impressive intelligence. However, Lorcan was already quite old by the time the Blight began. He had actually been in my sister’s life before I was even born, but he…” 

An uncomfortable silence descended upon them then, stretching for several painful heartbeats, before Niamh cleared her throat and continued on.

“He died four years after we left Ferelden. It was… old age that took him rather than battle. He was still curled up in sleep against me when I realized he passed on sometime during the night.” Wintry grey eyes blinked several times in succession, as if the effort would keep the sheen of the tears within them at bay. To Niamh’s credit, her voice didn’t break, but there was an unfathomable sadness evident in every line of her body, which hurt Leliana simply to see. “For a time, I didn’t think I had any more tears left to cry after Saoirse’s death, but with Lorcan… Oh, I wept for _days_ afterward, for he had been not only my sole companion but also the last link to my sister. To finally lose him was devastating.” Her eyes became downcast. “I… regretted I couldn’t return him home to give him a proper burial. I’m sure he would have loved to be laid to rest back in Highever. In the end, however, I spread his ashes near the edge of a lush grove we had both come to love. I thought the view there would grant his spirit some measure of peace.”

Leliana was quiet for a moment before she walked forward, and Niamh looked up at her approach briefly before she shifted herself on the bed, allowing her to sit alongside her. From there, she reached out to gently place a hand on her friend’s shoulder in comfort.

“He saw more of the world than most ever get the chance to experience, Niamh. That he was able to see it with you—someone he favored and someone he knew clearly cared for him—was likely much its own peace for him.”

“You’re kind to say so...” 

Silence.

“Niamh?”

“Hm?”

“In all that time away, did you ever find your own peace? You were more than deserving of it,” she insisted quietly, “especially given all we endured back then.”

“No more than anyone else within our party. Before the Conclave, I would have I said that I longed for nothing but to live in obscurity for the rest of my days. Save for protecting myself, I had no intention of picking up my staff to fight ever again.” 

Leliana frowned upon hearing the very careful non-answer. “It isn’t selfish to want to live in peace. You gave enough of yourself to see it through.”

“Yes, but my inaction over the past decade did nothing to change the world that Saoirse gave her life for." Niamh sighed, running a hand wearily through the length of her hair, tousling it further. "I can’t let it fall to ruin. I know some find fault in what I eventually chose to specialize in, but is it truly so terrible to use what knowledge I have at my disposal no matter the cost? If I mean to use it to aid the greater good, then is that so wrong?”

“No,” she answered without hesitation. “It isn’t.”

Niamh turned to her with a start. Ghostly-grey eyes then stared at her before they crinkled almost imperceptibly at their corners, a hint of wry humor in them, accompanied by a more visible smile that Leliana was gladdened to see.

“I suppose I asked the one person who could understand me in this, didn’t I?”

* * *

“Niamh?”

Bethany seemed surprised to see her upon opening the door to the tower she and the children resided in. Niamh merely offered a sheepish smile and a shrug.

…Well, as much as she could anyway, given she was carrying a box nearly filled to overflowing with books and toys along with a basket of sweet, softbread biscuits. The latter had been an unintentional addition since she had traveling down through the kitchen after meeting with Josephine. 

_“For you, that lovely woman, and her children to share!”_ Everleigh—their head cook—had said. Her smile had been absolutely radiant as she ushered her out the door, but her expression had darkened before long when the older woman spotted one of the staff hands trying to sneak a slice from one of the slow-cooked roasts being prepared for dinner. _“Abner! How many times have I told to—”_ Then, the rest of her words were lost as the woman shut the door abruptly behind her.

“What do you have here? Are these—” Bethany’s eyes widened as she inspected the contents of the box. “Did you bring these all for us?”

“Well, it wasn’t _just_ me. The treats are from Lady Everleigh obviously, but as for the rest, I asked a few of my advisors to see if they might be able to use their respective connections to help with gathering some items for the children. The majority of the toys were from Lady Josephine and Sister Leliana’s people while most of the books came from the Commander’s men.”

Bethany stiffened immediately at the mention of Cullen, which was to be expected, but Niamh’s heart sank when she saw the clear wariness in the other woman’s eyes as she backed away from her. Niamh bit her lip briefly before continuing.

“While it's not common knowledge yet, the Commander's current position as leader of our military forces is…” She turned her gaze skyward to think of a suitable description. “…in transition.”

Bethany frowned in confusion. “In what way?”

“Well, there will be an official announcement regarding it later, but much of his focus shall be dedicated elsewhere. He still serves in an advisory role on my War Council, but he and I both agreed that he would step down from that position once he feels his successor will be ready to lead without him.”

Niamh hadn’t expected Cullen to take both the options she had given him during their last discussion together. 

He would co-lead their new vanguard strike team which he’d created alongside Commander Helaine, and he would mentor Lysette with the understanding that she would eventually take his place as leader to their military forces, allowing him to focus on his recovery well out of the public eye now that he had forsaken the use of lyrium. 

To her explanation, Bethany said nothing at first, but Niamh grew concerned when the other woman averted her gaze away from hers with something akin to shame. “I…” She wrapped her arms around herself. “I don’t like him…”

“I know,” she said softly in understanding.

“Did... he already tell you?”

“No, but given you were both part of Kirkwall’s Circle, I can imagine what went on there.” Bethany only turned to look at her with sullen resignation. “I would never ask you to share any information with me you were uncomfortable in giving nor am I asking you to even forgive him,” she reassured. 

Niamh shifted her attention in the direction of Cullen’s quarters, which overlooked the bridge leading into Skyhold. He hadn’t been seen at all that morning, which likely meant he was enduring another painful day of lyrium withdrawal. She exhaled soundlessly.

“My own relationship with him is a rather complicated one,” she admitted. “The Commander and I didn’t part on good terms when I originally left Ferelden. While I admit he had his reasons for changing then, his experience within my Circle colored much of his interactions regarding mages after that. He’s since admitted to wrongdoing. Despite his position and privilege as Knight-Captain then, he acknowledges that he failed to properly manage the men and women under his command, which led to the abuse that ran so rampant within Kirkwall’s Circle.” 

“That’s… more than I would have ever expected of him. Of any Templar,” Bethany said quietly, but she shook her head. “Of the ones here, I... I can’t look at them in all their regalia and _not_ see the people who would so willingly hurt us for gifts we never asked for.” She clenched her jaw angrily. “And the Commander turned a blind eye to us all then, and for that, I don’t know if I can ever forgive him.”

“He honestly doesn’t expect it. He understands that helping the Inquisition or even with small matters like this—” Niamh briefly raised the box still in her arms. “—doesn’t immediately absolve him of all his misdeeds. He does, however, want to try and be better a person. He’s so far shown to be earnest in that regard; I’d have removed him from the organization entirely if that hadn’t been the case.”

“I see.” Bethany seemed to be less apprehensive after her reassurance, but she didn't appear ready to discuss her experiences in the Gallows. If ever. She waved to the supplies. “You mentioned this was all from your advisors?”

“One of the boxes from them anyway. I actually have more outside.”

Bethany blinked. “You… what?” She poked her head around the tower’s doorway, and her eyes widened when she saw the crates stacked along the adjacent wall. “Niamh, this is so much!” she protested. “We couldn’t possibly use them all!”

She laughed. “I’m aware. I just wanted the children to go through them to see what they’d might like to keep. We can always donate the excess items or store them away for future use.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. As I recall, the Circles often forbade any type of romantic entanglements, but if my experience within one is any indication, it’s a rule that’s far more difficult to put into practice,” she explained with dry amusement. Niamh shrugged. “Granted, given the enemy the Inquisition faces, it’s likely not the right time to introduce more children into the world, but I’m not going to pretend it won’t happen eventually.”

“What’s this about more children?”

Niamh blinked and looked over Bethany’s shoulder to see Hawke standing by the stairs, looking at them with a mixture of bemusement and alarm.

“Oh, Niamh and I were just talking about the future,” Bethany replied, which only caused her sister’s face to suddenly pale.

“The f-future??” the warrior stuttered out in a croak.

Niamh canted her head in concern. When she glanced over at Bethany in question, the other woman simply shrugged, apparently just as confused as she was.

“Yes,” Niamh began slowly. “I was remarking on the fact that the population here at Skyhold might grow at some point. My mentor once said that it was impossible not to expect some manner of intimacy to be involved when there are so many people working together in such close proximity.”

“Oh! Right! Yes! I suppose that would be the most logical conclusion, now wouldn’t it?” Hawke said, laughing as she rubbed the back of her neck sheepishly, but there also seemed to be a great deal of relief in her expression, which Niamh found curious. “Anyway, it looks like you’ve got quite the large number of supplies there for my sister, Cousland.”

“Well, Bethany does have the youngest group of mages with her. As they won’t be able to join the core classes being taught for a few more years, I didn’t want them to grow bored or believe they were somehow less important than their peers, so I gathered some books and toys for them.”

“Indeed. Wasn’t that thoughtful of her, Sister?” Bethany remarked, and Niamh saw that she was frowning in consternation at Hawke’s behavior. 

“Of course!” the other woman agreed—albeit a tad too quickly—before turning a flustered smile to Niamh. “So storybooks, eh? I’d say those will prove rather useful. You actually arrived just in time, Cousland. We were just about to put the little ones down for their afternoon nap.” 

“Story time?” a curious voice asked, and all three of them turned to look further inside the tower to see little Luka standing at the landing of the stairs, looking down at them curiously.

His inquiry seemed to raise the call among the other children, for more soon followed along behind him. Upon seeing her, however, their excitement quickly grew.

“Niamh’s here!” 

“For story time? Yay!”

Hawke took the box from her hands just as little hands reached for her, pulling her further into the living quarters, where she soon found herself surrounded. 

“Come sit with me, Niamh!” said a girl, tugging insistently at the sleeve of her formal jacket while another pulled at her entire forearm.

“No fair!” she protested. “I wanna sit with her!” 

“Wait! I think we can all sit on her!” 

And with another flurry of movement, Niamh found herself herded into place as she was sat on the floor with a handful of children in her lap while the older ones clustered themselves into a tight ring around her.

“You’ll like this, Niamh!” one child declared as she drew one of Niamh’s arms around her in a loose hug. “The Champion tells the best stories!”

“Ah.” After such a whirlwind of activity, she looked up with utter bewilderment at Bethany and Hawke, who both seemed remarkably amused. “I’m… sure I will?” 

Hawke merely chuckled as she pulled out a chair to sit on. “Alright, alright. What story shall it be this time?” 

“[Wyvern!](https://youtu.be/y5gWnjHmQIE?t=84)” they all shouted unanimously, causing the warrior’s shoulders to immediately droop.

“What? But I told you all that story once every week when we were still in Kirkwall!” she insisted incredulously. “Don’t you all want to hear something else?” Bright blue eyes turned hopefully toward Niamh then. “Maybe the Inquisitor would like to hear a story with a bit more fighting in it, yeah? Perhaps about the time my party and I took on a group of raiders on the Wounded Coast, or oh! How about the story of when we slayed a High Dragon to avenge a group of miners?”

All at once, several eyes turned toward Niamh, causing her own to widen at the sudden attention. “Um. Well. I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure of hearing about the wyvern story yet?” 

The children immediately began cheering loudly in approval at her choice, and Hawke merely gave a long-suffering sigh before turning to Bethany. “You put her up to this, didn’t you?” she accused dryly, causing her sister to laugh. Hawke turned back to the children then with a fond smile. “Very well, I _suppose_ I can indulge you all with this since the Inquisitor and I will be heading out to Crestwood in a few days." She began clearing her throat dramatically. “So Isabela, Merrill, and I were cleaning up the mess that the city’s Guard couldn’t be bothered to deal with—as per usual—when suddenly we met a woman named Tallis...”

* * *

“Why is it that you can’t be bothered to take me anywhere nice?”

“It’s only a bit of rain, Dorian. It’s hardly going to kill you.” 

“Have you _seen_ what it’s done to my hair?!”

“It’s no worse than mine. Besides,” Niamh said, idly blowing a bit of wet hair out of her eyes, “I’ve a feeling the weather and Crestwood’s current conundrum with the undead has more to do with the familiar anomaly out on the lake.”

“Hm.” He gave a cursory glance toward the giant rift in question, which hovered ominously over the middle of the water, tendrils of green energy illuminating its murky surface. “A fair point. It’s certainly one of the largest rifts we’ve seen to date. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised there would be a heavier concentration of spirits to accompany it.”

“And they certainly have quite the assortment of hosts to choose from,” she remarked grimly. “The mayor mentioned darkspawn destroyed the dam controls years ago during the Blight. As such, many lives were lost in the resulting flood.”

“Well, we’re going to need to drain the water out of the valley if we stand any chance of sealing that rift. How do you propose we do that if we can’t repair the controls?”

“It wouldn’t do us any harm to simply access the situation,” she answered reasonably as they approached Caer Bronach—the area’s keep—which was currently being occupied by bandits, who regularly terrorized Crestwood’s residents. As the keep also held the accessway to the dam, they would need to liberate it if they stood any chance of helping the village in any way. “I’d like to at least see the extent of the damage before we send for someone to repair it.”

Dorian had been poised to say something reply, but as the wind shifted, there was the sound of a wet smack, and—startled—she turned to see that a large leaf had suddenly plastered itself against her friend’s face. For several moments, he said nothing, but she saw the clear way in which his lips pursed themselves, causing the curled ends of his mustache to twitch minutely in annoyance. 

“Cousland?” he called, his voice completely even.

“Yes?”

“The next mission you take me on after this had best be somewhere warm…”

“Who goes there?!”

The unfamiliar bellow soon had them turning their attention to the fortress’ parapets high above them, and Niamh could see at least half a dozen hostile gazes directed their way. She’d wager there were likely more to be met inside, but it wasn’t entirely a huge concern despite the fact that the element of surprise had been lost. Seeker Pentaghast and Hawke had a lifetime’s worth of experience between them as warriors, Cole’s spirit-like nature allowed him to move about any battlefield in ways that no enemy of theirs could ever hope to counter, and the magical aptitude between Dorian and herself was more than enough to bring most opponents to their knees.

“Chief, wait!” one bandit cautioned, grabbing his leader’s attention. “Some of the boys saw Inquisition soldiers at the border. Guess those villagers finally mustered enough spine to get someone else to do the dirty work for them,” he spat in disgust, leading the other man to bristle instantly as he glared down at them.

“If you tossed your lot in with them, then you’re no ally of mine!” he warned. “We took this keep! Far as I’m concerned, it’s ours!”

“There’s that infamous Fereldan stubbornness,” Dorian quipped dryly as he peeled the leaf away from his face, causing Niamh to roll her eyes.

“Don’t start,” she deadpanned before returning her complete attention to the bandits above, raising her voice in order to be heard over the downpour. “We don’t have to fight! If you would but surrender in peace, then there’s no need for anyone to come to harm!”

“You think us cowards?!”

Niamh raised both brows languidly. “It’s more that I find your reasoning here to be questionable. You captured a fortress in territory that’s regularly overrun by the undead, which has deterred any travel from potential traders whom you could have pilfered coin from.” She frowned. “You’ve nothing to gain from this situation. If you’ve a surplus of anything here at all, it’s rain and misery.”

“Well, I’ve gained you lot, haven’t I?” he countered, raising his chin smugly. “If my boys and I ransom you off to the Inquisition, we’re bound to come away rich as kings!”

Incredulous silence stretched across Niamh’s party for several long moments before Hawke broke it, idly scratching her cheek in bemusement. “I suppose idiotic bandits are the same all over Thedas, eh?”

“Just as well, I suppose,” Niamh murmured, rubbing at the bridge of her nose.

“Open those gates, and round them up!” ordered the Chief, and there was a rustle of activity up along the wall as his men rushed to do his bidding. He seemed absolutely heedless of just how outmatched his group truly was, but as the wooden doors before them were slowly being pried open, Niamh felt the need to make one last comment:

“If this is what you’d prefer, I’d like to at least remind you and your men of one thing.”

“Oh?” He scoffed, seemingly already assured of his own victory. “And what’s that?” He immediately flinched, stumbling back a pace as a bolt of lightning struck the ground only a few scant meters away from him, dislodging bits of stone and debris just as a roar of thunder announced itself.

Although rain had fallen continuously ever since they arrived in the area, that had largely been the extent of the inclement weather. However, there was no mistaking the flashes of electricity arcing through the ominous, grey clouds swirling above them, lighting the skies in erratic intervals. The sheer energy thrumming through the air was palpable, and Niamh felt it dancing across her skin—a lover’s playful caress—as she tempered the power to her will.

Even with such magic circulating around them, her companions showed no sign of concern. Instead, they kept their attention upon the immense structure of Caer Bronach itself, each reaching for their respective weapons in preparation for combat that was to inevitably follow.

Using one of the newer spells that had been taught to her by Anaxas—one of haste—Niamh proceeded to cast it over the the melee fighters of her group, allowing them to blur out of sight as they invaded the keep with lightning speed just as the gates were opened completely. The bandits that had been behind them couldn’t even begin to understand the nearly unseen onslaught—let alone hope to defend themselves against it. Frantic cries rose immediately, and as the bandit leader looked down in petrified disbelief, he soon found himself having to cling to the stone railing, for the sudden, surrounding winds soon threatened to rip him off his feet.

“I gave you a chance,” Niamh reminded him solemnly just another crack of thunder reverberated through the air, “and you chose not to take it...”

* * *

“You wished to speak with me.”

At the sound of Cole’s voice, Niamh looked up from where she had temporarily taken shelter from the rain in one of the less water-damaged rooms of the keep. Upon ridding it of the bandits that had occupied it before, she had wasted little time in composing a letter to inform her advisors of the current situation, listing several issues in order of priority. 

Caer Bronach was a rather old fortress, and it had unfortunately fallen into disuse even before the Blight. The roofing and walls were in desperate need of repair, but it had been nowhere in as dire shape as Skyhold had when they'd first found it. As such, Niamh had hopes the fortress could be restored for Crestwood’s future use. With it, the villagers could better guard themselves against further bandit occupation, especially if training and resources were given for them to provide a proper defense. As things stood now, however, it would likely remain a stronghold under the Inquisition—a deterrence for bandits more than anything—until she was ready to relinquish it. 

“I did,” she answered, setting her quill down so that she could give her companion her complete and undivided attention. “I had every intention of doing so while we were traveling through Verchiel, but so much occurred during and after that event that the conversation I wished for us to have fell to the wayside. It was never my intention to ignore you,” Niamh reassured, worry lingering within her, “but I apologize all the same.”

“No. It was good that we helped.” He nodded emphatically. “I like helping people. The ones there had no voice with which to save themselves, and they reached out to someone who could. It’s not perfect,” he added, idly wringing his hands in a gentle, contemplative dance, “but it’s better than it was before.”

“I know. I was unhappy to learn what had occurred there.” 

That the nobles felt they could use those beneath them in such a way was nothing less than reprehensible. It was frustrating enough that Harmond felt he had been justified in his actions, but Niamh easily saw the diplomatic disaster that would have come of it. 

The former noble had familial ties to much of lower Ferelden; thus, his occupation of territory outside Verchiel—an Orlesian city—would have been met with much repercussion. Given Niamh’s own Fereldan background, the other country likely would have questioned her motives despite her having no real connection to Harmond, but it was scrutiny she could ill afford. It had already been such a long and precarious matter in establishing the Inquisition as a force of good in the public eye.

“I’m currently working with our ambassador to see if we might be able to secure one of her own contacts into overseeing further development over the land—someone its future inhabitants would take more kindly to than worry about being used as pawns in a game they had no part in,” she stressed. 

What construction had occurred there already was of poor craftsmanship at best, likely as a result of Harmond and Lady Movreau trying to secure their respective claim as quickly as possible. As to Harmond’s own lands being acquired by the Inquisition, his family had proven amiable enough to the transition. Apparently, the aging head of the Harmond estate had given the territory to his son as a test of whether he had the wherewithal to properly tend to it and the people he was responsible for. 

He—of course—resoundingly failed. 

That, and given the diplomatic crisis that had been averted due to her intervention in the matter, the older Harmond was also likely trying to save face. In any case, given the family’s military ties across Thedas, the loss of one territory would hardly be of any burden to them. 

Unfortunately, this meant she and Josephine now had twice the work in ensuring both the lands outside of the Verchiel and the one recently relinquished by the Harmond family would be given to more acceptable individuals. The state of the world was already in terrible disarray thanks to Corypheus’ schemes; there was no reason for people to suffer more by one of their own.

“I was worried at first,” Cole said quietly, drawing Niamh out of her thoughts. He allowed his head to fall forward, the wide brim of his hat preventing her from seeing his features. “You’re… different now. You pull at pieces, and they push into place—demons but different but wrong. I don’t like it.”

Niamh frowned in concern. “Is the magic I’m using doing harm to spirits, Cole?” 

“No. They’re not spirits or even demons. Not as you would understand them. They are…” He tilted his head in thought. “…pieces of them. The bits that could become more, but they are a fraction of a fragment of a figment. Not enough to _be_ ,” he stressed, “but they could!” He fretted quietly with his fingers. “And you break them...”

“Wait, are you saying these… wisps—for lack of a better term—are entities that could have become spirits if I hadn’t called to them with my magic?” When Cole simply nodded, Niamh slowly sat back in her chair in quiet alarm. “But I thought…” She trailed off. Lord Anaxas had assured her the role of the Necromancer and the spirits around them was a mutual relationship. He hadn’t struck her as being even remotely deceitful, but had he simply been wrong in the assumption of his own craft this entire time? She bit her lip. “Cole, does this specialization _force_ these wisps into doing my bidding rather than simply aiding me?”

“No, you’re not binding them. A force that chokes all it holds?” He shook his head. “Your magic is always nice. Subtle. A winter’s breeze against one’s back in gentle encouragement. They were drawn to you before with the Anchor, but now that you can call upon them at will, they stay to experience what would otherwise be lost to them. Most spirits and demons never get a chance to enter your world, but _they_ do. They're always here.”

“Then if I’m not hurting or forcing them to fight alongside me, what is the issue here?”

“It’s easy to become lost to that power,” he explained quietly. “I’ve seen it happen before, where mages felt they had no choice but to take and take. They ended up turning themselves and the wisps into empty husks of what they once were. Some wisps never get the chance to be more because they don’t have the strength to grow beyond what they are, and that’s not their fault, but..." He tapped his fingers together nervously. “Just don’t bind spirits. They are _more_ , and you shouldn’t hurt them,” he implored.

 _So this was a warning,_ Niamh realized. 

“Of course,” she agreed readily before breathing a sigh of relief. Still, she couldn’t help but turn a look of apology to him. “I’m sorry, Cole. It wasn’t my intention to make you uncomfortable. I was simply hoping to put my new knowledge to use so that it would of help in our current endeavors.” She could certainly see why he had been so quiet and distant with her as of late. Her specialization had every potential to be abused if utilized by those with less pure intentions. “I always do my best to be mindful when I use my magic in any capacity. In any case, I would hope that if I ever do anything that would be cause for concern for you, you wouldn’t hesitate to bring it to my attention.”

“Yes,” he assured, nodding. “I was worried, but as I kept looking, I found that you didn’t change in the way that would lead you astray from us. From where I couldn’t help anymore. Your tracks are lonely after leaving her behind—the one who had been your bird of faith—but that spark remains in what you desire and what must be done. Even in weary solitude, you stand vigilant, a wolf’s eyes and fangs gleaming bright against the shadows that threaten to encroach.”

 _The songbird and the wolf, hm?_ she mused with familiar sadness. _Companions always but of far too different worlds to ever truly be together._

“But that’s not true,” Cole insisted immediately, which informed Niamh that he had found her way into her thoughts.

Not that she could blame him for the intrusion. 

Although he had been more mindful of doing such things to their companions, Niamh’s thoughts regarding Leliana were always… complex. They brought forth with them an array of vivid emotions and memories. As such, Cole likely wouldn’t have been able to ignore them.

“Oh,” he uttered when she had remained silent. “I did it again, didn’t I? Sorry.”

“It’s alright, Cole,” she replied even as she held back a sigh. “I don’t mind if you look when we’re alone, but… Please. You can’t ever let Leliana know.”

“But what if she wants to?”

“She won’t.”

“How do you know?” 

“She already found the love of her life, Cole, and it wasn’t me,” she replied flatly. “Even now, she keeps my sister’s memory close. It would be…” Niamh grimaced. “…inappropriate for me to pursue anything with her.”

“Empty hands and a cold, blank sky instead of a sea of stars offered in fervent devotion.” His gaze seemed curious. “You were worried that you had nothing to offer her back then.”

“I still don’t, Cole. The titles I have now were all things I never asked for—let alone earned. Not like Leliana. While I wallowed alone in my own regret, she worked tirelessly to serve those most in need of help. Even if that had never been the case, my feelings don’t change the way in which the world works, Cole.” A familiar sense of misery welled up within her as she turned her eyes to the nearby window, watching the roiling, grey clouds and their resulting downpour—a mirror image of her thoughts. She gave a curt shrug. “It has already shown me that it would hate me on mere principle alone. As such, Leliana stands more to lose with me than she could ever hope to gain, and I would never be so selfish as to rip away all she’s accomplished.”

While Niamh could indulge in idle fantasy, that was all it could ever be. It was far easier to pine away at a dream that would never come true than face the reality that had always been markedly evident to her. 

_She was never mine to have._

* * *

Niamh had returned to Skyhold some days prior after locating Hawke’s Warden contact, who had then informed them his own investigations had pointed toward the Western Approach. As the territory bordered the edges of Orlais, travel to and from that destination would already be a matter of weeks, but any expedition to the area had been halted for the time being.

The Inquisition was still Orlesian in origin, but given its Inquisitor was of Fereldan background, Josephine had to inform all the necessary parties of their impending presence there even if regular travel through the area—due to the sweltering heat it boasted—was rare at best. The two countries had been on tenuous terms in recent decades, and given the empire’s own civil war quietly brewing, there was little need to stoke the flames more than necessary.

Thankfully, Lady Cousland had been of similar mind. Although she had spent most of life hidden away in a Tower than raised in a noble house as her siblings had, some lessons still carried over it seemed. She was ever cordial, and—despite her initial words to the contrary—she was very good at diplomacy, deftly maneuvering herself out of otherwise precarious situations.

Her recruitment of a Fereldan noble, who had been feuding with an Orlesian rival was testament to that fact. 

While not as overt as Sera in her anger, Niamh had nevertheless taken exception to the innocents caught in the crossfire and had used her knowledge of both nobility and legality to requisition Harmond’s lands and title. In essence, he would be forced to work under them. 

Ordinarily, Josephine would have had concerns, as the Inquisition had no legal right to claim territory even on the sole basis of defeating a would-be god, and when she brought up her concerns, Niamh had admitted she'd been aware of that fact and had already come up with a contingency plan on her way back to Skyhold.

_“My words were merely to temper his own actions as well as of others like him. Now that they’ve seen what I’ve done to him, they’ll be less inclined to use and abuse their household staff in such a manner again, which would hopefully give us enough time to find someone more suitable to oversee the land.”_

And though Niamh had been forced to fight in defense of herself and her companions then, she had still managed to end further bloodshed through non-violent means, which Josephine found admirable. Granted, she had been greatly concerned regarding the type of training the other woman had undertaken, it seemed that Niamh still remained as she always had demeanor-wise. 

While there were certainly terrifying aspects of the Necromancer, Niamh used her more intimidating abilities against the undead, darkspawn, and the Red Templars, using a type of magic that caused her targets to implode from within and spread that chain of effect into their nearby brethren but not before manipulating their terror so that they could be herded into her companions’ attacks or otherwise caught by the mage’s inescapable prisons of lightning or fields of fire and ice.

Hers was a battlefield of utter devastation if she willed it, but—as had been the concern of many within the rumor mill—there was certainly never any death rituals or even blood magic involved.

In fact, for those whom Niamh had met in her travels, the Inquisitor might as well have been Maker-sent, often going out of her way to help where she could or defend those who were unable to do so themselves. Such incidents were commonplace in the reports that Leliana had been kind enough to forward to her from her scouts, citing their use as possible ammunition against Niamh’s most vocal critics. 

_“They can hardly call her legitimacy as a leader into question when she saved the very people they had all turned a blind eye to,”_ her friend had replied dryly.

“My, it seems Josie has more kindling for you.”

“How wonderful. The last batch burned so brilliantly last time, didn’t it?”

The sound of voices drew Josephine out of her reverie, and she looked up to see Leliana and Niamh entering her office for their upcoming meeting. Niamh was eying the pile of letters Josephine had purposely set aside for her with some measure of glee, having recognized them for what they were:

Marriage proposals.

“Or perhaps I can use them to make paper boats for the children to play with. I believe I saw Varric doing the same to the letters he received from the Merchants’ Guild.”

Josephine resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Of course he did…" She shook her head. "In any case, my lady, this is for you,” she said, pulling open a drawer to hand her a single letter—marked with the Cousland family crest. 

“Ah,” Leliana intoned with satisfaction. “You may find this one to be of considerably more interest.”

Niamh blinked. “Because it’s from my brother?”

“Well, it has more to do with what he sent you in addition to that letter. My agents regularly check any incoming cargo as a safety precaution, so I've a likely idea of what it might be about.”

“‘Cargo?’” she repeated in confusion. “Did he truly send so much this time around?”

Leliana simply smiled. “Perhaps you’d better read that letter and find out.”

* * *

She had already read the letter several times.

_Niamh,_

_I hope this letter finds you well._

_News continues to spread to Highever in regards to your accomplishments, and I couldn’t be more proud. As to the dangers you face, well… I won’t lie and say that I’m not constantly worried over your well-being, Inquisitor or no. Consider it an older brother’s concern. I hope you can forgive the indulgence, but please understand my worries have no bearing on whether or not I believe you’re capable of all that’s been set before you. I know you’ll rise to meet every challenge._

_Due to our respective duties, I can’t be there to offer aid as I’d like, but I thought I might be able to send a piece of home to you instead._

The sound of playful yips and enthusiastic growling filled her ears then just as it had for nearly the past half hour as she still struggled to overcome her sense of disbelief.

_The litter I’ve sent up to you is descended from Lorcan—Saoirse’s beloved warhound. His lineage still runs strong throughout Highever, as we were able to loan him to another breeder just before the Blight, and so the resulting pups were safe from the disaster that befell our home. You may notice, however, a difference in fur length and color compared to the traditional mabari. They were bred with a line more suited to the inclement, cold weather of the Frostbacks, and so they will blend seamlessly and comfortably against the landscape around Skyhold when they become of suitable age to patrol and protect the area._

_I would not have you face this responsibility alone without aid. Kennel Master Roric will be there to oversee their needs and train them as future warhounds. While they may not be able to aid in saving the world just yet, I hope at least one of them will bring you some small measure of joy. You’ve more than earned it, dear sister._

_As always, know that I’m only a letter away should you ever need me._

_-Fergus_

“I never thought I’d get a chance to see mabari pups again,” Bethany remarked from where she was leaning against the fenced-off pen just outside the stable, where the litter was currently being held. 

She was alone for the afternoon—a rare and unexpected event—as Hawke and Varric had taken the children out on a picnic to one of the nearby lakes. Hawke had apparently thought that Bethany deserved a break from looking over the young mages, especially since she had been doing so on her own for so long. It had certainly been a thoughtful gesture, but when Niamh had wandered across her in the garden—looking rather lost as she sat upon a bench, staring at nothing in particular—she had asked if Bethany might like to accompany her down to the stable to see the new puppies. With eyes wide, her friend had agreed immediately, and Niamh had been glad for it.

…and because she could use the added company in garnering her courage. 

Niamh had stayed well enough away from the pen upon arrival, too afraid to venture closer. Mabari were—after all—known for their ability to see through to the heart of any individual, judging those who thought themselves worthy of being a companion to them. 

And she feared that if they saw her, they would immediately find her wanting.

Just like the Chantry had.

And just as the world did.

Niamh couldn’t possibly be deserving of such a companion—not like Saoirse. 

Hadn’t she shown her own selfish cowardice after all? In her pain, she had fled the country after breaking her promise to her sister, abandoning her own companions without a second thought. Of more recent note, however, her conversation with Cole had brought along more thoughts that only led her to second-guess herself.

She knew that taking on a new specialization was ever an adjustment, but she had taken Anaxas’ words for truth, never questioning that she could potentially be disrupting the existence of the wisp-like fragments Cole had described. She had always enjoyed learning for the sake of it, but in obtaining her new knowledge toward necromancy, her desires had superseded the needs of another’s—the wisps in this case. Although Cole had assured her that she was being as respectful as possible in how she called to them for aid, Niamh now questioned her own motives. 

And it certainly didn’t help that Skyhold’s gossip mill was never quiet.

Although some discretion had been taken with their comments, that they existed at all never escaped her attention. At times, she could just hear their whispers just as the edge of her hearing, often questioning her ability to lead or wondering if the Inquisitor realized she was essentially sabotaging the global perception of mages everywhere with her choices.

Niamh thought her decision in the matter had been a sound one, but had she been wrong this entire time? Was she becoming so arrogant with the power—political or otherwise—now at her fingertips that she was failing to meet the expectations of her own people?

If some of the other mages—her very reason for accepting the mantle of Inquisitor to begin with—had found fault within her, then, surely, the puppies would as well, wouldn’t they? They couldn't possibly want anything to do with her.

Her every worry fell upon themselves in a neverending loop until she felt like she was struggling to breathe against the weight of them, and it wasn’t until Bethany pressed a hand against her bicep did Niamh look up to see the wide, concerned eyes staring back at her.

“I called your name so many times, but you didn’t answer! Is everything alright? Should I get one of the healers?” the other woman asked urgently.

“No, I… I was lost in my thoughts. I’m sorry.”

But Bethany merely frowned. “Niamh, even in your most introspective moods, you've never looked so terrified. What’s truly bothering you?" 

At first, she said nothing, uncertain with how to even word her current dilemma. How could she best encompass the entire gravity of it so that it might be understood? Still, she pressed forward albeit with great hesitation.

“Bethany, do I…” She wet her lips nervously. “Do I frighten you?”

Both of the other woman’s brows rose almost immediately in disbelief. “What? Of course not. What even made you think such a thing?”

“Surely you’ve heard the rumors. They’re not always subtle after all...” Niamh sighed then, a familiar bitterness filling within her with that knowledge. “Given what they’re saying, I can understand if you’d like me to limit my interactions with the children.”

“With the—Did you honestly believe I’d forbid you from seeing them?”

“That would apparently be the logical choice,” she murmured sullenly, causing honey-gold eyes to soften.

“Oh, Niamh…” she whispered. “I wouldn’t do that to you. I judge a person more by their actions than whatever rumors might be surrounding them. The children absolutely adore you. You’ve been nothing but kind to them and me since our arrival here. It would break their hearts if they learned they could no longer see you." She sighed. "As young as they are, they haven’t been exposed to the most positive of environments. They’re so often judged on the pure basis of being a mage. In Kirkwall’s Circle, it was even more of a damning status. To the Templars there, it didn’t matter to them how individually sweet and wonderful the children were. They were still judged, and they were found lacking every single time.” Bethany bit her lip. “Even now, I wonder how that might affect them. You, however, have made every effort to better our place in the world. It isn’t perfect—few things rarely are—but it’s far more than anyone else has done.” She reached out to place a hand on her shoulder. “You are my friend, first and foremost. Despite what others may think of you, I will not abandon you when you need me. Alright?” 

Niamh looked up beneath her lashes to see her friend’s eyes still looking to her. Still, slowly, she nodded in answer, satisfying Bethany.

“Good. Would you like to go see the puppies now?”

“Yes, but… What if none of them like me?”

Bethany turned her gaze briefly toward the pen, where the fuzzy forms of several rambunctious mabari pups were play-fighting, unaware of the weight of the conversation taking place so close to them. Her expression turned pensive for a moment before looking back to Niamh. “Well,” she began, “take some advice from someone whose sibling has a mabari. Emrys is a Reaver warrior, and so she thrives in the chaos of battle and all the danger that entails. The more pain afflicted upon her, the harder she fights, and the more her foes suffer, the more devastating her blows. Outside the battlefield, however, she’s probably the most gentle-hearted woman I know. The children have certainly never been afraid of her.” She sighed. “And as much as I’ve wished they had never learned of them from the Templars, they all know what a sword’s purpose is. It’s a weapon of fear for them, yes, but in the hands of their beloved Champion, they know she uses it only to fight for those who can’t fight for themselves. They have always seen her kindness just as they always have with you, Niamh, and I’ve no doubt these puppies will see the same. It matters little to them whether you were born from wealth or walk the streets a beggar. They just need to know that you’ll be as much a companion to them as they are to you.”

As Niamh stood in indecision, a low whine filled the air, and she and Bethany looked to see Rebel at the pen's side. He was looking between them both in question while placing a paw on a rung of the fence. At the sight of the large warhound, several puppies already broke away from the pack to scamper over to try and inspect him.

“No. You can’t see them yet, Rebel,” Bethany chided. “Niamh has to go in first to say hello.”

Rebel gave a soft wuff of disappointment, but nevertheless, he stepped away from the pen to wander back over to Bethany’s side, where he was rewarded with a few quick scratches behind the ears.

“Go on,” Bethany said to her then, and her smile was not unlike the ones she always had for her young charges—warm and encouraging. “They’re waiting for you.”

* * *

Niamh latched the pen gate closed behind her, careful not to let any of the puppies within wander near it—not that it had been a huge concern. They were largely invested in their current play session with one another, and she felt a smile pulling at her lips in spite of herself as she watched the small pack of [white, fluffed fur](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MV6yN5XkHE0)—nine in all—wander past. They seemed to be fighting for control of a leather hide that had been left for them to play with. 

She was content to simply watch them as she sat with her back against the gate. At eight weeks old—long enough for them to have been weaned off their mother—she could admit they were absolutely adorable. They were, however, a tad clumsy. As they made another pass by her, one of the puppies gave a startled yelp as he tripped over his own paws, tumbling head over feet before managing to right himself with a brief shake of fur. Of his littermates, he seemed to be one of the smallest, but even size would be just a relative matter by the time he was fully-grown, as mabari often towered over other dog breeds. Niamh tilted her head in continual observation of him.

Like the rest of his siblings, his fur was an almost uniform white, save for the scattering of dark fur—a mixture of black and greys that would provide some camouflage against the foliage found along the Frostbacks’ forested trails—which traveled from the back of his head to the length his tail. His left ear had also not perked up yet to join its twin, and she noted that as it drooped down, it left him with an almost perpetual, inquisitive appearance, which led her to chuckle in amusement. 

He turned his attention to her immediately at the sound, and as she saw his dark, intelligent eyes, she couldn’t help her sudden intake of breath. It was almost as if she had Lorcan staring back at her again.

The pup had been eying her with considerable interest—his body language calm and unafraid. However, as keen as his breed typically was, it seemed he was able to sense her sadness, for his tail had slowed in its excessive wagging. With a soft whine, he padded closer until he was within reach of her, nosing at her ankle in concern, and she felt her heart clench with the gesture.

“Aren’t you just a sweet boy?” she whispered, taking a glove off to offer her hand for him to inspect. 

Niamh felt his cold nose against her palm immediately along with the tickling sensation of his tongue as he licked at it. She made to withdraw it with laughter, but he followed after her. As he did, his eyes caught hers again for another brief moment. Then, he blinked with seemingly profound decisiveness before proceeding to shove his entire head past her hand. From there, he began licking her face enthusiastically, pressing his paws up against the front of her formal jacket to gain better leverage.

She spluttered beneath the attention—laughing helplessly—but she couldn’t stop her own reactions as she was unwittingly drawn toward old memories, where such affection had been her only source of comfort for years. She felt the sting of tears across her eyes before the first of them raced down her cheeks in hot rivulets. They were soon lapped away by her sweet companion, and before long, Niamh found herself beneath the onslaught of multiple paws, as his siblings had also been drawn in by their new visitor, pressing and prodding at wherever they could reach. If their intent had been to topple her over, however, they soon succeeded, eliciting further laughter, but she had been mindful to wrap her arms carefully around the puppy against her chest as she fell over.

He hadn’t been the least bit concerned by the sudden shift in movement. If anything, he had only proven his stubbornness, for he hadn’t stopped with his incessant licking.

“See?”

Niamh looked up to where Bethany was leaning against the fence, forearms casually draped over the top rung. Her smile was soft, and she made no comment of Niamh’s soft hitching of breath even as several puppies began to gather around her and their sibling, each determined to lick away the silver tracks of her tears. Bethany placed her chin atop her crossed arms, seemingly content.

“I knew they could see the goodness within your heart.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The information regarding Harmond's family in this chapter was of my own creation.
> 
> Anyway, chapter 19 went up on November 28th, and given the two-week update schedule I like to give myself, I know that I'm behind by two and half weeks with this. :( Unfortunately, life got a little busier for me, especially given the usual end of the year holidays, but I hope you enjoy this 60-page update.
> 
> That said... I want to briefly discuss something here because it involves an incident I had with the last chapter, and it regards an aspect of fandom culture I hoped I'd never have to deal with. 
> 
> Guys, _please_ be mindful of how you interact with content creators.
> 
> As much as I greatly enjoy writing this story, it needs to be understood that this is all _free_ content that I willingly upload. No one is paying me to write these in-depth chapters, and no one is regulating how frequently I update except for me. I still have a life outside of writing, and sometimes that means it won't be the highest priority on my list.
> 
> Yes, I know it's been a month since my last chapter; however, just because you enjoy the content I make does not mean you're entitled to my time or energy regarding it. To make such demands is not only rude, but it shows me that you have no respect for the amount of effort I put into something I'm infinitely proud of. This chapter actually would have been up last week, but after the complaint I received about not having updated in almost a month (at the time the comment was made), it made me anxious, which only slowed down my writing because now I was aware of each second that keeps passing without an update.
> 
> That said, I still _love_ writing this story, and I've no intentions of stopping until it's complete. As much as I would love to promise that I'll always keep to a two-week update (which I've been fairly consistent with since I started this story back in July), just please understand that it won't always be possible.
> 
> Honestly, if you love the content you see from creators, just please take a moment to show them your appreciation in whatever way you can. :) For me, the readers who regularly leave me a review are pretty much the driving force behind my creativity these days, especially with OtSttCA. This story likely would have seen a _lot_ more infrequent updates if it weren't for them. As much as people like me enjoy creating content, it's always nice to be acknowledged. :)
> 
> Other than that, here are some other things that occurred since the last update:
> 
> 1.) [Commissioned Modern AU art featuring Niamh and Leliana](https://morganaseren.tumblr.com/post/637048211574538241)
> 
> 2.) [Commissioned solo portrait of Niamh](https://morganaseren.tumblr.com/post/637045473894629376) that might be the inspiration to a [different Goddess AU I have in mind.](https://morganaseren.tumblr.com/post/637047633821794304)
> 
> 3.) [I'm part of a Discord for Leliana romancers!](https://discord.com/invite/EjFYyJmVkV) :D The server isn't mine; it actually belongs to a fellow writer. It's still pretty chill there though, so if you ever want to say hi, feel free to join!
> 
> As always, thanks so much for your continued support! I never expected the amount of attention this fic would get, but you guys somehow managed to give this over 8k views, so I must be doing something right! :'D 
> 
> Thanks for making my New Year's amazing, everyone! Happy holidays!


	21. I See Nothing In Your Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While taking time to settle in with her new puppy, Niamh plans for her excursion out into the Western Approach. Upon investigating the disappearance of the missing Grey Wardens there, however, she discovers something that may very well threaten the legacy of her late sister...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: 1/31/20 - Added hyperlink regarding Enchanter Ellendra; corrected some typos.

"Have you come up with a name for him yet?”

Niamh turned her attention away from where she and Leliana were both watching the inquisitive puppy explore the rookery. Once Kennel Master Roric had returned to the pen, he had taken one look at her and the little mabari steadfastly licking every inch of her face and laughed heartily, declaring that he’d never seen a faster imprint. The pup would still be trained with his other siblings as a warhound, of course, but for all intents and purposes, he would be her personal companion, he had said.

She walked over to where the puppy was sniffing curiously at some wooden crates and picked him up to rest him in the crook of her arm. While his paws gave a little flail of confusion, he didn’t seem to mind the handling as he laid belly-up within his new but warm cradle. It was unsurprising, given that he had shown to be of relatively even temperament thus far if perhaps a little too over-exuberant. Niamh had already given the puppy his first bath following him happily chasing Bethany’s children’s around upon their return from their picnic. It was all fine until the clumsy pup had managed to trip his way into a mud puddle. 

Repeatedly.

Even now, the dark crest of fur that ran from the back of his neck and down the length of his spine was still semi-spiked up from the water.

“Well, I did briefly consider Apupstate,” she revealed, answering Leliana’s question but immediately causing the other woman to turn her head toward her in stunned silence. Niamh canted her head when she didn’t get any other response. “No? What about Barkspawn? Oh! Wait! Arfdemon then!” She grinned in triumph when the ridiculousness of the names startled an actual string of laughter from Leliana, and she swore that the warm peal of them could put the ringing belfries of all Val Royeaux to shame. “Ah, you’re right, you’re right,” she amended, nodding thoughtfully then, “I suppose that was a little too on the nose." 

Leliana simply gave her shoulder a shove, careful not to jostle the puppy in her arms. “Brat. You’re impossible.”

“I _had_ actually settled on Bain," she said with a laugh, using a hand to point out the length of his body, which was mostly pure white. "A little reference to the color of his fur.”

Lorcan had been the almost spitting example of the breed: large, sturdy, intelligent, and possessing the mabari’s standard dark, short coat.

Although Bain and his siblings possessed some of the typical dark-furred coat patterns along their back, they were still a frosty white overall, still fluffing out as a defense against the cold weather. It was its own beauty, and Leliana seemed to think much of the same as she reached out with a gloved hand to tickle Bain’s belly, causing one of his back legs to kick out repeatedly in delight, much to the laughter of them both.

“Well, I’d say he’s rather adorable.” Leliana’s grip shifted so she was holding a white paw, examining it. “Hm. I imagine he’ll be rather big when he’s full-grown.”

Niamh hummed in confirmation. “I doubt any will reach Lorcan’s size though. He was already exceptional in that regard.”

“Indeed,” the other woman agreed, laughing. “You both seem to be getting along rather well in any case.”

“As I recall, Highever’s kennels were renowned for raising rather even-tempered warhounds, and that doesn’t seem to have changed over the years. Bain’s shown to be relatively carefree around me so far.” Niamh smiled a bit, remembering the words Bethany had told her after what had been an admittedly embarrassing lapse of control. She shrugged. “I don’t believe he or his siblings care anymore than your ravens do that I can use magic nor would they judge us for the difficult decisions we must make in order to prevent more chaos from being sown. They trust in us even if others might not grant us the same courtesy.”

“Ah. It’s always such a rare thing, no? To be free from judgment—of the expectations and even consequences tied to them.” Leliana’s expression darkened somewhat beneath the shadows of her ever-present cowl, leading Niamh to frown in concern, especially as she sighed. “I assume Josie’s already informed you of the incident regarding her couriers?”

“Of their murders, you mean? Yes. It’s tragic what happened to them,” she said quietly. 

Bain soon grew restless in her arms after being held for so long, and he began squirming, causing Niamh to set him on the ground, much to his satisfaction. He glanced up at the many ravens above them—either perched atop the shadowy rafters or resting within their cages. Although his tail wagged with seeming curiosity toward them, as young as he was, his attention was easily drawn away toward the other mysteries and enigmas so prevalent in Leliana’s domain, which he began exploring at his leisure. 

“This matter with the House of Repose however… I can’t imagine keeping a contract for so long,” Niamh admitted, raising a subject that had been bothering her ever since she heard of it. “If the family who issued it have long since been removed from nobility, couldn’t it be argued the contract is now null and void? The parties involved now certainly had no part in whatever events took place over a century ago—let alone mere knowledge of it. I doubt Lady Montilyet would have sent her people to Val Royeaux otherwise if this was the reception she’d received upon trying to restore her family’s name as a trading power within the country.”

“Ordinarily, I’d agree, but anything to do with Orlais will always be intertwined with The Game, Niamh. Just as with first impressions, there’s a certain honor tied with contracts. Even a league of assassins wouldn’t be so crass to break one so easily; it’s a matter of reputation.”

“And that is much a currency in and of itself in Orlais, isn’t it?” she stated more than asked, remembering an old conversation from nearly a lifetime ago when she had first asked Leliana about her country of birth, causing her friend to smile faintly at her just as she did now.

“Your memory never ceases to amaze me.” And then that expression hardened—ever such a jarring juxtaposition against the ever cordial demeanor Leliana displayed to her as she moved to sit at her desk. She gestured for Niamh to seat herself across from her before continuing. “In any case, we can solve the matter rather quickly so that no harm befalls Josie. It would be simple enough to have my own assassins destroy the contract housed within the headquarters of the House of Repose.” 

“Wouldn’t they just go after us in retaliation then?”

“No,” Leliana replied with complete confidence. Placing her elbows atop her desk, she then weaved her gloved fingers together, starring at Niamh over them with a somber expression. “As I’ve mentioned before, my agents are fully aware they may be called to give their lives if necessary to the Inquisition. My assassins are especially discreet, and if caught behind enemy lines, they know not to divulge any information that may come to compromise us even under threat of death. It’s…” Blue eyes turned down then to stare at the whorls across the table’s surface, but Niamh didn’t miss the fall of her shoulders as she sighed heavily. “It’s not a subject I consider lightly. Barring the incident with Painter, I have always trusted them all greatly. I don’t allow just anyone to join my network, and so I know all my agents by heart. To lose any one of them is always a great shame.”

Niamh recalled that Leliana’s traitor agent had been apprehended not long after they had settled into Skyhold. 

With his capture, it allowed Butler—the agent Painter had tried to blackmail into taking the fall for the death of another—to finally come out of hiding and reveal his survival to his family, whom had both been stunned beyond belief and overjoyed. It had been quite the tearful reunion, as had been reported by some of Leliana’s scouts. 

Understandably, Butler had chosen to resign from Leliana’s network not long afterward, citing that his priorities had changed. Perhaps given that he had been without his loved ones for so long, he didn’t want to waste another precious moment without them.

Life was never guaranteed after all. Had Fate been less kind, the situation surrounding Butler could have ended far differently, and it nearly had multiple times. 

Nevertheless, Leliana had all but expected his decision and accepted his resignation gracefully. It had saddened her to lose an agent and a long-time friend, but she understood his place in life was elsewhere now. For his service, she had left him quite a generous severance package, which was explained away as an apology from a noble that Butler had formerly worked for—one who had reported him as dead in a case of mistaken identity—and for any untold mental and emotional trauma the family had suffered over the incident. 

In addition to the sum Painter had anonymously gifted them after Butler’s supposed death—the man apparently honored his word regarding the deal—his family now had sizable fortune to their name, which they could use to live out many years in contentment together, which they accepted gratefully. 

As for Painter himself, Leliana had revealed she’d interrogated him personally over several days. In the end, it was as they both expected: a vain attempt at power. At grasping at what he could have been his once upon a time if the world had been kinder. 

_“Hm. I suppose he regretted betting on the wrong employer,”_ she had said when told of the matter later. 

_“It was more he couldn’t foresee the power you came to hold. As your name grew to greater heights and more connections were forged under the Inquisition, he feared his ruse would soon be found. He made a mistake—one he’ll forever live to regret.”_

Blue eyes had gleamed with almost feral satisfaction then for a loose end finally resolved and a blood debt repaid. For a moment, Niamh found herself glad that she had never known Leliana to be her foe. She doubted she’d last a moment against her were she to ever earn her ire in such a way—something Painter knew only all too well.

In exchange for his life, he had exposed the secrets of their enemy, which had proven useful in uncovering leads that Leliana’s and Dorian’s respective contacts were looking into. The former agent had acknowledged it as a mercy of the Inquisition, but anyone familiar with the matter knew it was truly at the mercy of Leliana. 

Painter would be imprisoned for the remainder of his days while also serving as living proof—a carefully-kept trophy of sorts—to potential agents of what it meant to challenge the cunning Nightingale of the Imperial Court and also dreaded Spymaster of the Inquisition.

“It’s a trust well-earned, Leliana,” she said at last. “That a man like him took advantage of it says much of his own character, but I don’t tend to expect much of anyone who would willingly join the Venatori to begin with.”

“A fair point. In any case, if you wish to forego Josie’s methods, mine would serve just as well here. The House of Repose can’t fulfill a contract that has been destroyed after all,” Leliana replied matter-of-factly, but Niamh couldn’t help but bite her lip in thought. Perhaps upon seeing her hesitation, the other woman added with some incredulity, “Surely you can see this would be far quicker option in settling the matter.”

“I’m well-aware of the dangers involved in either choice, but you also must realize that Lady Montilyet’s going to feel terribly if you sent your assassins—no matter how skilled—after the House of Repose and they were harmed on her behalf. You already saw how devastated she was when her own couriers were found dead, but—” The added conjunction was probably the only thing that stopped Leliana’s immediate protest. “—I can also see you feel strongly about this.”

“Well, yes," she admitted cautiously. "Much like you, Josie is one of the few, true friends I have these days. I would not see her hurt.” Her lips thinned. “I take care of what’s mine.”

Niamh couldn’t resist her smile at the idea of being held in such high esteem by the woman before her. “I trust you, Leliana.” _I always have._ “And I trust your agents. With any luck, all this will be settled within a few weeks no matter the method—longer than I’m sure you would desire, of course—but it will be dealt with all the same.” Leliana’s frown only seemed to deepen when it became clear her assassins wouldn’t be readily deployed, and so she offered a different perspective. “The contract against Lady Montilyet took away her control,” she explained. “It wouldn’t hurt to allow her some semblance of it back.”

“And suppose she gets hurt entirely while trying to solve the matter in this—” She gestured vaguely at the air with an irritated flick of her wrist. “—roundabout way of hers? What then?” she demanded.

“Leliana, she’s already willing to agree to whatever tactic you see fit in resolving this if her own doesn’t happen to work,” she replied reasonably. “I freely admit her methodology may come to nothing in the end. As much of she’s told me of the matter, trying to elevate the status of the Du Paraquettes would require a current noble house to sponsor them, a judge to sign the necessary documentation, and then a minister to further ratify their return to power.” Niamh sighed. “Given how Orlesian nobility hold such status dear to them, even just accomplishing one of those tasks would be a monumental affair. They’d likely see an addition of even a minor lordship as polluting their society. Regardless, as Lady Josephine doesn’t travel outside of Skyhold nearly as much as I do, she’ll be reasonably safe behind these walls as she navigates through the muddied waters of all this, especially if she has your people looking after her.”

That she knew that Leliana already had her agents in place to surreptitiously provide a constant guard needn’t be said. 

“As I’ll be away in a few more weeks to attend to matters in the Western Approach, if her safety becomes compromised, then I’ll trust you to handle matters. Our shared love of tea aside, Lady Montilyet’s a lovely woman, and so I would certainly hate to see her hurt in any manner as well. As you’ve known her the longest, I’ve no intention of standing in the way of that duty.”

“She…” Leliana trailed off with a sigh. “…won’t be pleased if it comes to that.”

“As adept an ambassador as she is, I’m sure she’s more than aware of the intricacies involved with Orlais’ Game just as much as she understands your assassins may be needed to further protect her and her messengers.” Niamh offered a smile in consolation. “You’re a wonderful friend, Leliana. She would never hold that against you.”

Leliana made a noncommittal sound. “For her sake, I hope this ploy of hers works. Ah, but my apologies. That wasn’t all I wanted to discuss with you.”

Niamh watched as Leliana pulled away the metal cloche that had been sitting atop her desk—surprisingly clear of her usual reports and writing instruments—and revealed an assortment of what appeared to be pastries and desserts. Niamh tilted her head curiously. The crescent-shaped bit of baked dough was probably the most recognizable to her, but there were others that drew her attention due to the impressive layers involved or simply their construction. There was one that looked like a pastry bun, but it had been artistically-crafted with a braided twist that made the top surface almost look like a rose. It had been halved horizontally and filled with what appeared to be sweet cream in the middle. A miniature sandwich of sorts.

“While I applaud you for remembering lunch this time, I’m not entirely certain if one’s meal should be entirely supplemented by sweets,” she commented, unable to suppress a wry smile especially as Leliana paused in pulling out a wine bottle, blue eyes narrowing at her.

“Have I told you how insufferable you are at times?"

“I thought that was the reason why you sometimes refer to me as ‘Brat.’”

“Well-deserved, I would think,” she deadpanned even as she poured them both a drink. “You can’t very well cast judgment on me when your penchant for sweets is just as terrible.”

Both of Niamh’s brows rose at the claim, stopping her hand mid-motion as she reached for her cup. Bewildered, she turned her eyes skyward in thought, but much as she tried to rack her mind, she couldn’t recall any conversation that would’ve revealed such knowledge to Leliana. Perhaps upon sensing her confusion, Leliana took the moment to elaborate as she began removing her gloves in preparation for their taste-testing. 

“You don’t react when the kitchen staff bring out any of the other courses, and you’ve never been one to complain regardless of what's been placed before you. With dessert, however…” She trailed off with a shrug. “Your eyes are always drawn toward the door before you follow along with the rest of the conversation at the table, and there’s enough of a shift in your posture to indicate anticipation.”

Niamh couldn’t stop the brief laughter that escaped her—both amused and amazed—at the other woman’s deductive reasoning. “Am I that much of an open book to you?”

“Again, save for those who might be familiar with your patterns of insight and mannerisms, I suspect most would be none the wiser. I will admit that you’re far better at hiding your thoughts than some of our colleagues however. Cassandra and the Commander don’t offer much of a challenge in that regard.”

“That’s not an exceedingly high bar of comparison, Leliana…” she replied dryly as she took off her own gloves before letting her hand drift over both cups of wine, and she watched—satisfied—as condensation settled along the sides of them, cooling instantly at her gesture. 

It was an old trick she taught herself years ago in Rivain during an excruciatingly long summer in the country. Save for mulled mead, Niamh always preferred her alcohol chilled as did Leliana. As the other woman had shared wine with her before during these lulls in activity, she no longer reacted to these small displays of power, but she did raise her cup to her in appreciation.

“Was I wrong?” Leliana asked as she brought the wine to her lips, brow arched at her.

“No, no,” she reassured as she sampled it as well, tasting the sweet notes of fruit on her tongue. “I suppose I’m trying to set an example for Bethany’s children to follow. Some of the younger ones tend to fuss about the things they’re willing to try, but they seem less inclined to argue if they see me eating it first without complaint." Her eyes trailed over the platter again, uncertain to where to even begin. “These are Orlesian, yes?”

“They are. I take it you’ve never had them before?”

“Some of them are familiar to me. Others? Not so much. While I admittedly try to sample as much of the cuisine of any given country as possible during my time abroad, I admit that I never had a chance to travel to Orlais.”

And that had been entirely intentional on her part. 

Besides being the seat of the Chantry—which was enough of a deterrent in its own right—Niamh knew of Leliana’s ties to the country, and she couldn’t risk being seen by her if she was also there. 

Still, she couldn’t help but admire some of the beautifully-made pastries before them. She would have to pay her compliments to Lady Everleigh and her staff the next time she was down in the kitchens. Her eyes followed Leliana’s hand when she gestured toward one Niamh had been curious of earlier—the cream-filled sandwich.

“That’s a _pâte à choux,_ which I believe you’ll find quite pleasing.”

And she had. 

The pastry was pleasantly-light and flaky as she bit into it, but it was the cream—sweet but not cloyingly so—that helped to enhance the buttery flavor of it. Much to her chagrin, however, she was able to finish it within a few bites, much to Leliana’s smug satisfaction if her smirk was any indication.

As if the other woman was rarely ever wrong to begin with.

She was perhaps saved from making a comment on the matter when Bain began audibly whining. The puppy had immediately abandoned his exploration of the rookery when the smell of sweats permeated more heavily through the air and had been pacing around the table for several moments, as if hoping to receive a tidbit for himself. He bounced between their respective chairs, begging insistently to be included in the sampling. 

“Well. Like mistress, like mabari it seems,” Leliana commented, resting a chin in her palm with amusement as she eyed the sight.

“Don’t start,” she said dryly.

Feeling as if his requests were simply being ignored, Bain walked to the end of the table. He jumped up with his front paws outstretched as if trying to peer over the edge of the wooden surface, but given his small size, the poor pup misjudged the height and ended up falling underneath the table with a startled yelp and a flopping of limbs.

“Bain!” Niamh exclaimed, unable to hide the laughter in her voice even as Leliana’s own rang out freely. She sat back in her chair to ensure the pup hadn’t hurt himself, but the little mabari was nothing if not persistent.

With a shake of fur, he rose to his feet and made his way out from under the table where he began his whining anew. After a time, he simply sat down on his haunches and pawed at the air anxiously before throwing his head back with a squeaky howl that ended in the softest “awoo.”

“So dramatic, I swear,” Niamh said as she and Leliana shared a few more chuckles between them. “I don’t suppose any of these would be safe for him to eat?”

“A few.” Leliana reached out to take a rectangular, shortbread biscuit, which she presented to Bain, whose ears had immediately perked up with interest. “Take it gently,” she said softly.

To his credit, he took it within his mouth with barely any showing of teeth. There was the sound of crunching as he bit down. He blinked for a moment—perhaps at the taste—before the puppy was soon splayed out on his stomach with the biscuit between his small paws, chewing happily. The sight seemed to fill Leliana with quiet delight. 

“Niamh, he’s so adorable,” the other woman cooed, causing her to hum in agreement even as she eyed a few more treats.

“Mmhm. I doubt you invited me up here just to feed my new mabari and I though.” She smiled to take the bite out of her words. “Lady Montilyet’s already spoiled me with some new Antivan teas earlier this week.”

“Ah. I knew you were likely to pick up on that. Here. Continue to sample these; they’re best eaten fresh. I’ll explain the matter as we go along.”

* * *

“You’re telling me they’re willing to come to blows with one another to contest their respective claim to the throne?” Niamh asked, brows knitting together with seeming incomprehension. 

It was understandable.

As close as the other woman had been to her family, it was likely too foreign a concept to even consider. Perhaps—given Niamh’s dislike for discourtesy and incivility—she likely found it more egregious Empress Celene and Grand Duke Gaspard were willing to draw their countrymen into the middle of their affairs. 

“I’m afraid so,” Leliana confirmed as she sipped at her wine. “As he had been the son of the last emperor, the throne should have to Gaspard with his father’s passing by right, but his cousin managed to appeal to the Council of Heralds and overrule his claim, thereby becoming Empress. Although he eventually became one of the highest-ranking nobles to become a Chevalier, Gaspard never forgave Celene for the slight.”

“Hence the civil war they’ve currently embroiled the entire empire in...” Niamh sighed. “That would explain why our request to enter the Western Approach has taken so long to be approved.”

“Most likely. What do you know of the respective parties involved?”

“Save for Empress Celene, not much, I’m afraid,” she admitted. “I understand she ascended to the throne at sixteen and has held it for the past two decades. While there were also rumors of an alliance of marriage between her and the late King Cailan—” A scandal waiting to happen, given that Alistair’s predecessor had already been married at the time. “—she’s otherwise ruled alone. With no successive heir in sight, however, I can only imagine Orlesian nobility would be concerned about the future of their empire, which—in turn—allows the Grand Duke to play upon that vulnerability and further press his birthright.”

Leliana couldn’t help but smile at the languid ease in which the other woman was able to assess the situation. It was always refreshing to have conversations like these with someone of similar mind, as it allowed her to gain another perspective outside of her own, and Niamh’s insight had always proven useful. 

“You’ve mentioned any correspondence we’ve sent to Empress Celene regarding the threat on her life has likely been intercepted, yes?”

“It’s the likeliest possibility. While she isn’t required to respond to us in regards to a threat of national security, the fact that my agents reported her movements as unchanged despite our warnings only led me to believe she’s been none the wiser to them.”

“Which would be odd given how adept she is at The Game,” Niamh commented, leading her to nod in acknowledgement to the point.

“Precisely. While I admit involving ourselves in a civil war is less than ideal, it seems we’ve little choice in the matter if we’re to prevent the Empress’ assassination. Fortunately, an opportunity has been presented to us in the form of a ball being hosted by Grand Duchess Florianne, Gaspard’s younger sister.” Her words only led Niamh to frown, likely at the absurdity of attending a gala—no matter how prestigious—when nearly all of Orlais would likely transform into a battleground over the coming months, especially if both nobles refused to bend the knee to the other. Still, Leliana hastened to elaborate. “We’ve time yet to prepare ourselves in whatever capacity you deem fit. It stands to be a rather historical evening—perhaps in more ways than one—especially given what we know of Corypheus’ intentions.”

“And outright ignoring the matter wouldn’t be enough to make it simply disappear,” Niamh replied wryly, discerning her thoughts. 

Leliana watched as the other woman bit into one of the few pastries left on the platter and chewed at it for a time—gaze turning out toward the nearby window as she retreated within herself to mull the matter over. She knew better than to draw her away from her thoughts prematurely. If anything, it was always intriguing to see a fellow strategist at work, for Leliana had no doubt Niamh was weighing every possible scenario along with the multitude of variables in between. 

This wasn’t so simple as an accepting an invitation to a ball after all.

The entirety of the Orlesian empire was at stake. Every move they made would be utterly crucial in preventing its destruction while also ensuring the Inquisition’s own position wouldn’t be compromised as a result. Niamh couldn’t abide any failure that would affect those under their care. Still, Leliana had no doubt that if things went exceedingly well at the Winter Palace, their renown would only continue to grow, as would the legacy of the woman leading them. 

And then those wintry eyes blinked as Niamh came out of her thoughts.

“Very well. Hopefully we’ll get this whole matter with the Wardens sorted out before then.” Her expression twisted into a mild grimace. “While I’d rather not be embroiled in another country’s political machinations, Corypheus cannot be allowed to seize any amount of control over Orlais. That his Venatori are already beginning to appear in small groups across Thedas is bad enough.”

Leliana sighed soundlessly in relief. While she knew that Niamh could be objective in her decisions, it didn’t mean she hadn’t worried. They at least had one less issue to concern themselves with now, and Josie would likely be beyond delighted upon hearing about it later. “I’ll have Josie confirm our reservations later this afternoon then.”

A caw from above drew their attention toward the rafters, and it seemed that Baron Plucky—apparently having had his fill of mingling with the other ravens—had decided to grace them both with his attention as he fluttered down onto the table. He gave his usual crooning note as he craned his neck forward toward her, and Leliana indulgently pressed a kiss against the crown of his head. With a satisfied chirrup, the raven then made his way over to Niamh’s side of the table with a series of small hops, but before he could get within touching distance of her, Leliana heard the immediate scrabbling of little claws along the floor. 

Bain had been lightly dozing off in a nap beside Niamh’s chair after devouring a second biscuit, but he perked up in keen alertness the very moment Baron Plucky had made his appearance. Leliana could just barely see the puppy’s dark nose sniffing intently over the edge of the table as he propped his front paws up against Niamh’s thigh in an attempt to further investigate, which only served to agitate the raven. She recognized the way in which the feathers on his chest and along the back of neck were beginning to fluff up—a display of dominance—and she immediately began to chide him.

“Baron, enough.” She watched as he paused mid-motion in spreading his wings to intimidate the little mabari. “You can’t always have your way. Besides, he is Niamh’s companion.” At the sound of quick-paced, methodical thumping, Leliana’s mouth twitched up into a smile in spite of herself when she realized Bain’s tail was repeatedly hitting the leg of her desk with his exuberant wagging. “He is a puppy and still rather excitable at his age as you can see. You must be patient with him.” 

“I know this likely comes as quite the surprise,” Niamh said, reaching out to stroke the back of Baron Plucky’s neck in consolation, gently soothing the ruffled feathers there. She then held out the last bit of a fruit-filled pastry to him in offering, smiling all the while. “Still, I hope you won’t come to mind his presence so much. I promise you that he means well.”

A quiet, grudging trill met her words before the raven gently took the offered tidbit between his beak before making his way back over to Leliana’s side to eat his snack in peace. It wasn’t to be, however. As the Baron began picking apart the pastry while continuing to eye the boisterous puppy with clear suspicion, the sound of fluttering wings became evident once more, and Leliana looked up to see another one of her ravens coming down to rest on Niamh’s shoulder. 

It was one of the females.

Duchess Sunsinger was perhaps the newest of her flock. While she couldn’t boast herself against the intimidating size of Baron Plucky—she was actually the smallest of all the ravens—or the speed and agility of Lord Stormsong or Countess Cloudweaver, Leliana found that she had the sweetest voice and was uncannily intelligent. The Duchess actually reminded her of Niamh in that sense, especially given the amiable demeanor they both seemed to share. It was likely the reason why the raven seemed so drawn to her, quickly cementing Niamh as one of her favorite individuals outside of Leliana herself.

Which was its own problem, given that Baron Plucky was of similar mind on the matter…

The larger raven—having abandoned his pastry—took exception to the Duchess perched on Niamh’s shoulder and squawked loudly at her. Despite Duchess Sunsinger’s even temperament, that didn’t mean she was without any fiery spirit with which to defend herself. She demonstrated that readily by glaring outright at the Baron, and while she couldn’t reach the same volume as him, she showed her displeasure with a low, guttural caw as the feathers along her throat ruffled themselves. 

Baron Plucky could only blink, seemingly utterly bewildered as he had been for the past several months regarding the other raven. She was the only one who couldn’t seem to be cowed by him like the others in the flock. He expressed his confusion by turning to look at Leliana in the hopes she might be able to fix such a dilemma, but she merely rolled her eyes before re-offering him the pastry he had dropped in his haste. _He’ll have to learn to share eventually,_ she mused dryly, idly hearing Niamh’s warm laugh of delight as the raven on her shoulder began grooming her hair.

“Well, hello there! I hadn’t expected to see you return from Denerim so soon, dear Duchess,” Niamh greeted, causing Leliana to look up in surprise. Perhaps upon sensing her gaze, the other woman turned to meet it—her smile still evident. It then slowly began to slip away, likely in response to whatever Leliana’s current expression was, and Niamh began to look between her and the raven still on her shoulder uncertainly. “Oh… I’m sorry. Did I misidentify her?”

“No,” Leliana said, still taken aback as she tilted her head curiously. “You can tell her apart from the others?”

Grey eyes blinked. “Ah. Well, yes. Baron Plucky’s the easiest to determine because of his size, but I noticed the Duchess had a small divot along the bottom of her beak here.” Niamh pointed to the furrow in question—the one Leliana had long known about as well—when she encouraged the raven to turn her head. Then, the other woman focused her attention toward the center of the room before gesturing toward one of the open cages. “Misty Moondancer has an almost circular crest of white feathers along the back of her neck, and Ser Ruffleston there…”

Niamh then went on to accurately match every one of her ravens with their names while also relaying aloud her observations—whether of a certain physical feature or a personality trait—which allowed her to remember them more easily. Leliana found herself amazed. Josie was of similar ability with her attention to detail—albeit less in the artistic sense—but even she could still make the rare mistake of referencing the wrong raven. 

Niamh, however, had seemed to accomplish such recollection through just the few times Leliana had spoken of the individual members of her loyal flock and from simply her overall perceptiveness. 

“Is that such a surprise?” the other woman had asked in some amusement after having named the final raven. 

“Perhaps less than it should be,” she admitted with a mild shrug. She smiled. “I don’t often run across anyone outside my agents who can tell them all apart so easily.”

“I would hope you didn’t believe I was ignoring you in all the times I’ve visited you up here,” Niamh said before raising her cup toward her, causing Leliana to obligingly clink it with her own, acknowledging their mid-afternoon interlude was coming to an end.

“As if you’d ever be that discourteous. I’m glad you enjoyed yourself here, however.” She gestured toward the relatively empty platter before them. “I chose these because I knew you’d appreciate the sweets, but if you’d like, we can have you sample some other Orlesian delicacies over the next few days.” Leliana’s lips lifted up into a slow smirk. “A rather popular culinary trend there has been ham seasoned with a hint of despair.”

Silence. 

“…I’m sorry. Of _what?”_

She merely sipped at her remaining wine, just barely suppressing her laughter at the look of utter bafflement on Niamh’s face. “You’ll understand when you try it,” she reassured.

* * *

“I do appreciate this opportunity, Your Grace.”

Niamh looked to where Lysette had taken her place across from her at the War Table. 

Her Council had grown now to reflect the changes within the Inquisition’s military, and news of the other woman’s promotion to Lieutenant-Commander of their main force had made their way across Skyhold over the past several days. As had been suggested by their quartermaster, Lysette was now also wearing new armor to reflect her position. It was of similar build as the woman’s former Templar set, but the silverite chest plate now held the heraldry of the Inquisition emblazoned across it along with a mantle of fur along the shoulders, reminiscent of the one Cullen wore albeit smaller in size. 

Lysette had taken to her promotion with honor and endearing enthusiasm, especially since she was already well-respected among her peers and within several circles of Inquisition’s mage forces. As expected, however, there had been some discontent among some of the Templars that had served their old Order longer than she had, who felt the role should have gone to someone more seasoned. Cullen had done his best to stress an imperative change of perspective. The Templar Order had altered very little since the time of its conception after all. If it was ever to formally return, a newer set of eyes was needed to see where they had fallen short and then rebuild themselves into something far greater than they were. If not, they risked stagnating themselves with old prejudices and petty pride—things of little value to the Inquisition, which was steadfastly securing itself as a seat of power within an ever-changing world.

Unfortunately, some of the Templars still couldn’t be appeased and had taken their leave of the organization entirely, reducing their few numbers even lower. Of the senior officers that had stayed, however, they were given the opportunity to lead infantry units while also lending their expertise on the training grounds to people who were still joining the Inquisition by the day. 

Then, of those who had simply been Templar recruits before the destruction of The Conclave, they were more than willing to stay. They had originally joined the Order because they wanted to help and protect people. Such strong conviction reminded her of Cullen—at least of the man he had been in those early days at Kinloch Hold. In any case, they felt they could serve that need best under the Inquisition, for they believed in what it could accomplish. 

“I make it a point to recognize talent when I see it,” Niamh stated before gesturing with a nod toward Cullen and Commander Helaine who stood together at the end of the table. “I’ve no doubt the Commander also thought highly of your skills as well since he agreed to have you act as his second-in-command until you’re ready to lead our main military force.” She turned back to Lysette then with some measure of concern, however, furrowing her brows. “I do realize this is a lot we’re asking of you however.” 

“No moreso than what the Inquisition has asked of you, my lady. I fully respect Commander Cullen’s decision in focusing on his recovery, but with circumstances being what they are, I feel I can do more good as I am now. I do recognize that my abilities may be a matter of discomfort for our mage allies, but I’ve no issue with them, Your Grace. The renegade Templars demonstrated the worst of us in the war, as did the rogue mages, but of the many others who were caught within the middle of the in-fighting?” She drew herself up in her armor, straightening herself with firm resolve. “They are who I wish to protect.”

Niamh nodded in approval. “The many vulnerable should not be made to suffer from the senselessness of the few.”

“Exactly so, Your Grace. There should be balances in place to prevent such a thing from ever happening again. If I can aid in that endeavor, then I feel I’ll have done my role here justice.” 

“Commendable at any rate. As Commander Cullen and Commander Helaine have combined their respective forces for several vanguard operations with success, they’ve both suggested we might be able to implement the same of our soldiers and mages. With that said…” Niamh paused, waiting until she heard the door to the War Room open behind her, revealing a woman garbed in mage robes. “I have another member to welcome into our War Council. Allow me to introduce [Enchanter Ellendra](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6Vro8eJAbe0). As former Grand Enchanter Fiona felt the youth should have a voice in deciding the future, Ellendra here was voted among her peers to speak for them.” 

The woman nodded respectfully toward each person at the table. Much like Lysette, their newcomer had also been outfitted in new garments—courtesy of Quartermaster Morris—befitting her position as a member of her Council. Her fur-lined robes were black, reminiscent of those worn by First Enchanters, but it also served to designate her status among the mages. Of the leather belts situated around her hips, the large, gold buckle fastening them together held the Inquisition’s insignia. It was a limited palette of color, but it enhanced Ellendra’s red hair—similar to Leliana’s in shade—and hazel eyes.

“She already had an impressive history within her own Circle due to her aptitude for magic, and as she’s familiar with working with Templars on the field, I imagine her working alongside you will be a seamless adjustment, Lieutenant-Commander.”

When silence only met her words, Niamh turned her attention back to Lysette in confusion only to find the other woman staring at Ellendra, utterly wide-eyed. 

“Lieutenant-Commander?” she pressed, and the title seemed to be enough to startle Lysette out of reverie, a curious blush coming across her cheeks before she crossed her arms—the sound of her gauntlets clanking loudly and awkwardly with the movement—in a forced attempt at nonchalance. 

“Yes! Welcome!” the dark-haired woman said, her accent coming off a little thicker as she stumbled over her words. “I am, uh—I look forward to working with you, Enchanter.”

Ellendra—for her part—only arched a brow at her behavior, but she allowed the moment to pass graciously in favor of continuing their meeting. “Likewise, Lieutenant-Commander,” she replied, further flustering the other woman, who shifted in place before studiously turning her eyes toward the world map, her face still a bright red.

Blinking languidly, Niamh glanced at Leliana out of the corner of her eye, silently seeking her input on the matter. In answer, Leliana shifted her gaze quickly between the two younger women before returning her gaze to Niamh. The subtle smile playing on her lips along with an almost imperceptible arch of her brow was much its own answer, thereby confirming her own thoughts. 

She wondered what it was about Templars that led to such a distinct lack of subtlety. _She might be even worse than Cullen in that regard._ Niamh didn’t know whether to be amused or pity Lysette.

Ellendra had lost her Templar lover nearly half a year ago during the Mage-Templar War after all. It was likely she wasn’t looking to form any type of attachments to anyone so soon after that. Niamh had noted that while the other woman often helped in teaching the apprentices about their magic or researching alongside the other Enchanters, she normally kept herself at a distance from everyone. In any case, it wouldn’t hurt for the woman to have another friendly face about. As discomposed as Lysette currently was, she likely wouldn’t press for more anytime soon. 

Niamh nodded. “Fantastic. As I’ll be gone for several weeks to investigate this matter with the Grey Wardens, I imagine it would prove a fruitful opportunity to allow our soldiers and mages an idea of what it might be like to work together. We’ve been fortunate thus far to not have to face a crisis quite like what befell Haven.” A moment of silence was given in recognition of those who had fallen in the attack before she continued. “We’re in a better position to defend ourselves now that we’ve settled into Skyhold. With any luck, it will never see battle, but I needn’t tell you that may not always be the case. As such, I’d like you both to find ways in which we might be able to better utilize the skills of both our soldiers and mages together on the battlefield, whether that might be in the form of new shielding formations and barriers or how we could better offensively break through enemy lines. I’m sure Commanders Cullen and Helaine would be happy to avail themselves to you if needed to offer their respective expertise.” 

For some of the Inquisition’s newer recruits, it would likely be the first time they had ever worked alongside a mage and vice versa. These first few training exercises would serve to build some camaraderie between them, and—ideally—she hoped it would strengthen to where they could operate as a cohesive unit rather than parts working independently of one another.

With such integration, it would also gradually push mages into the public eye, especially as they moved such units to outposts where suspected Venatori and Red Templar activity was strongest. Thedas would be able see the capabilities of mages when their powers and movements weren’t so restricted as they had been under the Circle. For the allies she had found in Redcliffe in particular, it would also aid in restoring their reputation as a force of good rather than the mindless rebels they were believed to be thanks to the Venatori. Despite long-held Chantry rhetoric, they could show magic didn’t have to be a thing of fear and that the wielders of such power could be trusted just as much as any warrior or rogue. In a world where Circles no longer existed, such a display emphasized they were standing at the precipice of history—one that could finally shift toward the better for them as a people. Lysette and Ellendra seemed to recognize that as well, for they both straightened in place as they regarded her with deep reverence.

“We’ll certainly do our best, Your Grace.”

“Yes. We won’t abuse the trust you’ve given us in overseeing this.”

“Wonderful.” Niamh smiled, thankful to have some measure of good news before she would have to leave for the Western Approach in a few days. “I look forward to seeing what things you both might accomplish together.”

* * *

“Surely, you’ve heard rumors of them together,” Mother Giselle insisted as she stood across Leliana’s desk.

“There is little that escapes my attention here in Skyhold or beyond it.”

“All the more reason for you to approach the Inquisitor with this then. You’ve known her the longest of anyone here. Surely, you could persuade her to…” The other woman’s lips pursed as she chose her words carefully. “…discontinue any entanglements—romantic or otherwise—with the Tevinter mage.”

“Perhaps.” 

Leliana could feel Baron Plucky’s low croon as she caressed the feathers along his throat. She had already fastened an encrypted message to him—secured inside a small, wooden cylinder to protect against the elements—that was to be delivered to Scout Harding out in the Western Approach now that Orlais had approved the Inquisition’s request to travel within the country. Lifting her arm in a careful, practiced motion, Baron Plucky took flight from it, circling the room in a gradual spiral before leaving through one of the windows unseen higher up within the rookery. 

“I’ve also known the Inquisitor long enough to understand she is an excellent judge of character however,” she finished.

And—if anything—the rumors of Niamh and Bethany being romantically involved likely had more substance to them than the ones regarding Dorian. Only the mages in Skyhold were gossiping about the potential relationship thus far, but the rumor would likely work its way across the remainder of the fortress within a fortnight.

Not that such whispers had come as a surprise to her.

Leliana had long suspected Niamh held a preference toward women, remembering how her friend’s eyes lingered for perhaps a heartbeat too long on some of the tavern servers back in their earlier days. Even with such subtle appreciation, however, the other woman never followed up on them. She had thought it a matter of Niamh’s quiet introversion, but given how close she had grown to Morrigan during those last few months, perhaps she had simply been waiting for the moment the other mage might return her affections.

It was quite the romantic notion even if it had led to them separating in the end.

“I suspect her relationship with Lord Pavus isn’t as you think, but even so, I’d respectfully advise you leave the matter be,” Leliana said calmly. “The Inquisitor is a woman of knowledge; she would have no reason to concern herself with anything based on little fact. To pursue this conversation with her would only succeed in alienating the Chantry from her more than it already has.”

She could see Mother Giselle wasn’t the least bit convinced, but the other woman nodded her head once to acknowledge her words before departing, leaving Leliana to send her messages out in peace. For a time, the gentle sounds from her remaining flock were all she heard as she read through several reports at her desk. The library below was far less populated in the morning as the mages who milled about there were usually out in the training groves, practicing their craft. Still, her ears were just able to pick up the tail end of a conversation, and she recognized the person speaking as Niamh.

“…least what the reports from Harding suggests, but I could certainly use a second opinion on the matter. Would you be able to join me for lunch up in my quarters to discuss it further?”

“That depends. Will this handsome lad be joining you?” Dorian asked, but it seemed he may have found his question answered when Bain’s familiar yapping filled the air, causing her to smile.

“Wherever I go in Skyhold, he follows,” Niamh admitted with a laugh, especially when Bain vocally began to agree. 

“To be expected of one of Ferelden’s prized warhounds certainly,” was the lofty response. “In that case, it would give me great pleasure to dine with you then, O Dread Inquisitor.”

She could practically hear Niamh rolling her eyes. 

“Oh, do stop before I—”

 _“Dorian!”_ came a bellow from further down below, echoing up into the rookery with enough volume that it sent her ravens into a cacophony of agitated cries. Leliana turned her gaze skyward for a very long moment—tempering her patience—before sighing deeply. 

The Iron Bull.

“Dorian!” the qunari called again when he didn’t get an immediate response. “You still want to grab drinks with my guys at the tavern later?”

“Would you kindly refrain from shouting in my sanctum?!” Solas snapped out. 

“What, this won’t take—”

_“Bull.”_

Niamh’s normally serene voice rang out with such a strong note of disapproval that it stopped all manner of conversation. Intrigued, Leliana soundlessly pushed herself away from her desk to tread toward the center balustrade, keeping to the shadows the rookery offered as she peered down to the floor below. The other woman had her gaze down-turned toward the lowest floor of the tower, where the warrior could be seen rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Oh. Uh, sorry, Boss.”

Leliana could see the mage’s dark brow slowly arch itself in expectation. 

“…And sorry, Solas,” Bull added in a low grumble.

The elf merely muttered momentarily before returning his attention back to the various books on his desk once the qunari sheepishly took his leave. 

“You _must_ show me how you do that, my friend,” Dorian said.

“Hm? Ah. I suppose I never really gave it much thought. I just find discourtesy to be rather rude.”

“Well, I suppose angering the Inquisitor would be in poor taste either way,” was his droll reply. “Perhaps if I immerse myself in your presence long enough, I’ll gradually assimilate such knowledge. Anything to ensure Bull behaves himself would be a boon.”

“I take it things are proceeding well then?”

He rolled his eyes as they began making their way toward the stairwell. “Too well at times. Why, just the other day, he was talking to his second-in-command about how I accidentally lit the drapes on fire while…”

The voices slowly faded as they moved further away, but Leliana shook her head, wry amusement filling her. She returned herself to her desk to continue working on her reports in peace. As she did, Mother Giselle’s words came back to her, and she couldn’t help but smirk in satisfaction.

There was always such a feeling of vindication when she was right.

* * *

“Cousland…” he growled, glaring holes into the side of his friend’s head.

“Hm?” 

“When I first joined the Inquisition, I had to sleep in a tent in the middle of a snowy field.” He shrugged. “Fine. I managed. Then, while serving faithfully as part of your inner circle, you took me on a trek across the Storm Coast for weeks on end! Weeks where it never stopped raining in all the time we were there! _Weeks_ where my hair was as limp as a wet pamphlet! I specifically told you afterward not to take me anywhere like that ever again, and what do you do?! You proceeded to drag me all about Crestwood, which had not only rain but also an abundance of spirits, demons, and the undead!” he stated irritably, listing the items off his fingers in emphasis. 

“Given your specialization, I didn’t think you’d have such reservations regarding those last three factors,” she quipped, leaving him spluttering in absolute offense when he saw the corner of her mouth curl up into a smile.

“That’s beside the point!” 

“You specifically asked me to take you somewhere warmer on our next mission, Dorian. Did I not deliver on that promise?”

“We’re in the middle of a _desert,_ Cousland!” he countered, but any intent to appear intimidating was quickly undone with a sneeze as sand drifted into his nose. 

“I swear, you’re unhappy no matter where I take you, aren’t you?” Humor suffused Cousland’s voice as they and their party began making their way out of the ancient ruins they had cleared of both demons and the Venatori. “In any case, I would like to thank you for your expertise earlier. I wouldn’t have able to read some of the writings found here otherwise.”

As was often the case with his friend, Dorian could never hold onto to his irritation very long around her. It was an exercise in futility, given how calm and kind-hearted she was. He waved her comment away. 

“Think nothing of it. Your Spymaster’s scouts did well in finding this place at all. I never expected such an old relic of the Imperium to have survived all this time here.”

The derelict palace had been hidden among the desert’s many dunes and crags, but the aura surrounding it had been felt instantly by him and Cousland. There was little mistaking the magic that permeated through the air—unnatural in how it seemed to stagnate everything that entered the delicate envelope in which it stood.

There was no wind. 

No sound—save for their own footsteps across eroded stone.

The palace was simply suspended in time, as was evident in the various battles taking place across it between demons and Tevinter mages—a unmoving tableau of violence with an equally frozen Fade rift looming ominously above them. Even the portal itself seemed rather… off however, according to Cousland, which was notable, considering how many the woman had already sealed across Ferelden alone. 

The one they’d encountered was surrounded in energy that seemed far older, leading Cousland to believe it wasn’t related to the Breach or the multiple rifts it had spawned in its wake. Their investigation confirmed as much, finding clues amidst the research data left behind, which detailed an experiment that had gone terribly awry. 

The latest note had been dated over two centuries ago.

The Tevinter mages had apparently been attempting to breach the Fade and harness its energy to their whims. However, a multitude of anomalies occurred in their attempt to grasp at power beyond their reach. The deviations eventually caused a significant tear in reality, and with it, the spread of demons into their world. Despite their questionable research, at least one among their number had the foresight to prepare a fail-safe measure, but the reaction of such experimental magic against the rift had the unintentional consequence of affecting the flow of time, trapping themselves and their enemies within it forever. 

“Has Alexius made mention of this place at all?” Cousland asked curiously. “Was this where he learned his time spell?”

“Hm. Doubtful,” Dorian admitted. “The Venatori presence we found here was recent at best—long after Alexius made use of his spell. Truthfully, the concept of time magic itself isn’t necessarily a new one; he was just the first to perform it successfully. It seems he _had_ been on the right track in using an item as a catalyst however, especially given the staff we found in the heart of the ruins.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “To think such knowledge was here for the taking all this time...”

“Perhaps for the better. It’s nothing that would help us at any rate. Even as we restored the flow of time within this place, it did nothing to maintain the longevity of those already caught within it,” she said grimly, likely remembering how the bodies of both the demons and the Tevinter further within simply dissipated, flesh and fabric withering away like sand shifting across a dune’s surface. 

“I suppose you’re right. Power of this nature would prove far too much for anyone, but if nothing else, we’ve discovered quite a deal of lost history here. Why, historians will likely be flocking to these ruins for decades to come, and they’ll have you to thank for it!” he teased, causing his friend to roll her eyes.

“ _Us,_ Dorian. I didn’t do all this alone after all.”

“Hmph. You really are much too modest,” he chided, shaking his head as they approached one of the Inquisition camps. “It’s alright to allow yourself some infamy, you know.”

“Why? It wouldn’t get me anything in the end.”

“Careful, my friend. Your secret admirers would be heartbroken to hear you say that.”

“My _what?”_ she asked with a brief, startled laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous, Dorian. Even with my magic, I’m nearly soaked through with sweat after all that exploration and fighting. I can’t imagine I look the least bit appealing right now.”

Dorian arched a brow at the claim even as he examined her more closely.

Due to the heat of the region, the woman’s usual leather coat had been forsaken, replaced with a simple, sleeveless tunic that revealed the muscle of her arms. It wasn’t atypical of a mage, given the amount of staffwork they utilized in combat, but he hadn’t realized how much definition she had, especially as they gently glistened with perspiration.

Perhaps the Inquisition troops hadn’t either.

Dorian saw the many eyes that followed her as they walked through the middle of the encampment. A soldier managed to miss her own mouth entirely as she drank from her mug, upending nearly half the contents into her very lap, and two scouts all but crashed headlong into one another—too busy admiring Cousland to pay attention—before they both immediately ducked into a nearby tent, hoping the woman hadn’t seen their lapse of awareness. 

If Cousland had found anything amiss, she said nothing aloud, but he supposed she wouldn’t have given the matter too much notice—not when her heart clearly belonged elsewhere. He hid a grin. 

“If you say so, my friend.”

* * *

Bain growled playfully as he tugged at his sister’s ear, paws digging into her shoulders for leverage, but the other pup seemed more content to snooze in the sun than wrestle with him, which was understandable. They had been training with Kennel Master Roric all morning, and his siblings were laid out in various piles of slumber around him.

Not Bain though.

He had to get stronger!

He was going to be the best warhound so that Leader would stop leaving him behind. She said he was still too small to go with her, and although he’d been sad, she had given him a long hug before she left with Mustache, Scowly Face, and Big Hat. 

His ears perked up when he heard the sound of multiple voices, and he looked up to see the little mage children along with the lady who watched them. Hairy Chest—the short storyteller—called her Sunshine, and he liked that. It fit her because her eyes were kind like Leader’s, and she was just as warm too! He could feel the heat off her hand every time she pet him, and Bain and his siblings spent several minutes basking under the attention of her and the children before they headed off to see the horses. 

As they did, Bain wandered over to one of the trees near the stable because it was his favorite one that held apples in it. A few had already fallen to the ground, and he pressed a paw against a few experimentally. Some had scratches from their fall down the branches or they were a little too mushy to his tastes. Eventually, he found a perfect unmarked one and carefully grabbed the stem between his teeth before slowly lifting his head, eying the balcony outside the rookery.

Leader said that Pretty Bird Lady forgot to eat sometimes, so Leader always made sure she got a snack. Since she wasn’t here, Bain would have to make sure she at least ate something.

Thankfully, he heard the door to the kitchen open up with one of the staff members coming out with a bucket to empty into the compost heap, causing his tail to wag.

Shortcut.

Bain ran past him and ducked between the legs of the other kitchen workers—ignoring their surprised shouts—before taking the path he knew would lead up to the rookery. It was noisy up there sometimes because of all the birds, but Pretty Bird Lady more than made up for that fact.

Leader liked her, and so Bain liked her. 

While the rest of his siblings slept in the kennel, Pretty Bird Lady was the one who looked after him now that Leader was away. He even got to sleep on her bed in the secret room of the rookery. He felt special because it didn’t smell like she had ever invited anyone into it before since her sheets always had the same sweet scent she did. 

For sharing such trust with him, Bain helped out in his own way in the rookery. 

He could always hear when people came up the stairs, and he’d bark to sound off an alert, making sure Pretty Bird Lady knew she was expecting company. The first time he’d done so, Weaver had nearly fallen back down the stairs, but after awhile, the pack up here had gotten used to his presence, and Pretty Bird Lady would always give him a nice pat on the head for being attentive in his guard duties.

When Bain finally got past the final step of the rookery, he saw that Bright Flower was talking with Pretty Bird Lady.

Bright Flower’s shirt was a shiny yellow that reminded him of some of the flowers growing in the garden—the place where he wasn’t allowed to dig in because he got scolded by the lady taking care of them. Still, Bright Flower was nice like Pretty Bird Lady, and she had a fireplace in her office that she’d let him nap in front of whenever Leader had a meeting with everyone. She also had tasty treats with her—biscuits that were different from anything that the kitchen staff made—and she’d share them with him if he behaved while she was talking with people. 

He always got treats from her. 

Remembering his own, he trotted over to the two women and placed the apple by Pretty Bird Lady’s chair and barked up at her, drawing her attention. His tail wagged when he saw the smile slowly spreading across her face. 

“Is this for me?” 

He barked affirmatively at that, tail wagging harder, and he heard Bright Flower coo a few words in absolute delight while Pretty Bird Lady laughed. Still, she reached down to take the apple while petting him.

“What a good boy!”

Bain’s ears perked up at her praise, and his tongue lolled out into a happy grin. Yes, he was a very good boy, and he certainly felt like it when he saw Pretty Bird Lady taking a bite of the apple he’d given her as she continued her conversation with Bright Flower. He was helping to take care of her like Leader did, and that made him feel good because Leader had said, “Protect,” before she had to go away.

Bain crawled on his stomach beneath the table to place his chin atop Pretty Bird Lady’s foot while loosely wrapping a paw around her ankle. He would protect Pretty Bird Lady with his life because he had promised Leader he'd do so. 

Still, that didn’t mean he didn’t miss his favorite human, and he sighed before closing his eyes for a much-needed nap.

He hoped Leader would come home soon.

* * *

Cousland was absolutely furious.

They had been out in the Western Approach for weeks now to search for any leads on the Grey Wardens, and while they had met their share of setbacks, her demeanor had never slipped from her usual, quiet serenity—the very one he was convinced bordered on divine at times. 

The darkspawn hadn’t been able to deter her calm nature nor had the Venatori leader who had been responsible for various operations across the region or even the literal giants his idiot countrymen had been convinced they could use as beasts of burden. Granted, the lyrium-infected High Dragon they had encountered had been more of a test of patience and endurance as per usual, but what Dorian had seen earlier when they encountered the [Grey Warden mages sacrificing their very own colleagues to blood magic?](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l7geZUYjhew)

The woman had been utterly livid.

* * *

_At the center of the heinous ritual was Erimond, a Venatori mage responsible for capitalizing on the fear running rampant through all the Wardens thanks to Corypheus’ false Calling. They had looked everywhere for answers—even to the dreaded Tevinter cult. On behalf of his master, Erimond had convinced the Warden-Commander the nightmares plaguing everyone within the Order was a result of the remaining Archdemons within the Deep Roads who would soon awaken to wreak havoc upon the world._

_A Blight to end all Blights._

_Although those who joined the ranks of the Grey Wardens were already remarkably powerful, thanks to the enhanced effects from the Joining ritual, they were still mortal, and they certainly didn’t have the numbers to assault the darkspawn territory needed to fell the Archdemons sleeping dormant within them. The only option, Erimond had said, was to let the mage Wardens harness their powers to build a demon army, but to have one of the caliber required for such a task, they would have to resort to using blood magic…_

_The Wardens had little idea they had been lied to from the start. They hadn’t realized the demon army they’d summoned was in fact meant to be used as the vanguard force for invading Orlais rather than a final assault on the Archdemons._

_Unfortunate as it was, however, Dorian knew their party couldn’t have convinced them otherwise, for the Wardens before them no longer had any thought of their own. They had lost their minds to Corypheus the moment they bound demons to them with their ritual, and it was evident in the streaks of red radiating luminously beneath their deadened eyes._

_Erimond had then attempted to subdue Cousland with the Anchor upon her hand just as his master had in Haven, taunting her as it visibly lit up with dancing sparks of verdant energy, but Dorian saw how carefully the woman kept her expression closed off as she stared at her palm. The fingers twitched intermittently, as if following the dance of invisible strings orchestrated by the Venatori mage. When the magic flared ever brighter, Cassandra had rushed forward to aid her._

_“Lady Cousland!” she shouted in alarm, but she—along with the rest of their party—found themselves suddenly grounded in their steps from the utter steel within the grey eyes watching them._

_“Stay behind me,” she commanded quietly as she marched forward a pace to meet their enemies, and in doing so, she allowed them a moment of peace._

_A single heartbeat to reflect upon the sin that had taken place here._

_A final reprieve._

_And then Cousland drew the thumb and middle finger of her Anchored hand together with a snap—effortlessly cancelling out Erimond's attempts to control her as the green rays of light fled back into the safety of her palm—inviting ruination upon them all._

_A series of Tevene curses fell beneath Dorian’s breath, barely managing to firm his stance against the sudden, buffeting wind emanating from the vicinity of the other mage’s form. Cousland didn’t move. She didn’t even shout. She merely stood as a silent sovereign, willing a death knell of theological proportions into existence for the ones she felt most deserving of such judgment. Briefly, he was reminded of their time together in the bleak future of Redcliffe, where she had laid waste to all the Venatori in their path, subjecting them to every force of nature imaginable with her magic, but Cousland had the powers of necromancy to draw upon as well now._

_He could see the sparks of electric energy dancing across her body as the Warden mages and demons were drawn into the center of a static cage that encompassed almost the entirety of the dilapidated outpost. The ancient stones shook beneath their feet, rumbling ominously even as Dorian could feel the wisps of fear that Cousland had summoned onto the battlefield. Amidst the vortex of power, however, the cries of their enemies were easily swallowed. He had enough time to see an aura of color emanating around the woman just as it radiated explosively from her form—beams of energy fanning out in wide arcs before pulling together with precision toward the center of the storm. It was an unrelenting salvo of elemental attacks, and each barrage hit like cacophonous blows—sending bursts of fire, ice, or lightning into the air—before everything eventually fell silent._

_As the winds finally died down, it was evident here was nothing of the Warden mages or demons left—just a smoldering crater of blackened ash._

_Cousland had judged her foes, and she had found them wanting of any moral decency or honor for the crime that had been committed here._

_“Maker…” Stroud exhaled in shaky disbelief even as Cassandra rushed forward to Cousland’s side._

_“Are you alright, my lady?” she asked, eying the other woman and her Anchored hand—the energy muted there once more—as her brows furrowed with visible concern._

_“It was worse in Haven,” she said simply, gently flexing her fingers and examining each one carefully. She shrugged. “What Erimond attempted to do felt little more than pins and needles in comparison. He’s nowhere near his master’s equal in power—let alone mine.”_

_“Cousland, what of the other Wardens in their ranks?” Hawke spoke up then. “The warriors? The rogues?”_

_The warrior’s blue eyes followed the path of the other woman’s hand as she gestured toward a corner of the outpost where a pile of bodies had been left following the ritual, untouched. Even as substantial as the attack had been, her level of control over every aspect of her powers never ceased to amaze Dorian. Still, Hawke cursed beneath her breath._

_“Damn them,” she muttered. “How could they have sunk so low? A grand Order, and it’s been reduced to this?”_

_“That’s unfair, Hawke,” Stroud said in rebuke. “Nothing is ever so clear-cut when it comes to blood magic. Didn’t one of your own companions practice in it?” he countered, but Dorian saw the anger burning bright in the warrior's blue eyes in response._

_“Merrill would never harm another soul in such a way! She was _nothing_ like the murderer who turned my mother into a walking corpse bride or the absolute fool of a First Enchanter, who sanctioned such research and then turned himself into an abomination for it!” She gestured sharply at the pile of corpses in the corner. “Blood magic taken to this extent has no place in this world!”_

_“I know it was a mistake, Hawke, but surely not all the Wardens have to die for this! I refuse to believe that all of them could have fallen for Erimond’s lies!” Stroud then turned to Cousland desperately. “Your Grace, please! Are these mages still not your people?”_

_But the woman seemed unconvinced._

_“As forthcoming as Erimond was about his master’s plans, I don’t believe he was lying when he said the Warden mages are now bound to Corypheus’ control. If that’s the case, we may not have any way of saving them. A mage who willingly falls under a demon’s thrall and becomes an abomination can never return as they once were.”_

_“But you’ve helped mages before!”_

_“The mages I offered an alliance to in Redcliffe didn’t slaughter anyone, Warden Stroud,” Cousland answered coolly before gesturing gently toward one of the bodies. “You heard the words of that rogue there as clearly as anyone else here. He _begged_ for his life, but his colleague still killed him in cold blood. While I will admit to there being some moral grey area with such magic, it doesn’t change the ritual here involved unwilling individuals. This isn’t a misunderstanding of intent.” Her eyes narrowed. “I know full well what blood mages are capable of. A decade ago, the greed of one man and his underlings caused nothing but untold death and pain, and I nearly died trying to help my sister set things right again. Erimond may have fed your colleagues lies, but they still chose to sacrifice their fellow Wardens in the end. They’ve defiled their oath as far as I’m concerned.”_

_Stroud stiffened—likely remembering who Cousland’s sister had been—and he dipped his head in apology but otherwise said nothing. Silence passed throughout the abandoned outpost for a moment before Cousland sighed quietly._

_“…but I realize your point. I managed to intervene before the Venatori could subject Redcliffe’s mages to their own whims, but I was unable to do the same here. Truthfully, I don’t know if it’s possible to save the Warden mages whose minds have already fallen under Corypheus’ control. If what you say is true, however, and there are those actively resisting the lies being told and can actually be reasoned with, I’m willing to cooperate. Make no mistake: if I see another of your mages sacrifice another unwilling victim to this insane ritual, they are as good as dead before me.”_

* * *

Erimond had managed to escape in all the confusion. 

Dorian had first thought it miraculous, but Cousland revealed it had been intentional on her part. She wanted to know where he’d run to once his Warden puppets had been so easily dispatched—an admittedly shrewd plan. 

Stroud had revealed knowledge of an ancient Grey Warden fortress nearby—Adamant. He suspected that was where his colleagues were, and he and Hawke left not long afterward to scout out the area along with some Inquisition agents, promising to meet them back at Skyhold to prepare for the eventual assault. 

Cole had made himself scarce, disappearing from sight as soon as the party had made it back to camp, likely to be alone with his own thoughts. It had left both him and Cassandra alone at the campfire with Cousland, and they both shared a concerned glance as they eyed the otherwise despondent woman. 

She had more than enough reason to be.

If word escaped of what had been occurring in the ranks of the Wardens, it would put the entire Order under public scrutiny, and with it, the legacy of the late Hero of Ferelden. Perhaps understanding that, Cassandra spoke up then.

“We will deal with this, my lady,” she reassured her.

“Of course, we will,” Cousland replied quietly, but there had been less resolve in her answer and more biting resignation. “What other choice do we have after all? We know what Corypheus’ plans are, but—loathe as I am to admit it—the Venatori have proven more adept than I realized at following through with their master’s whims.”

“But they _are_ still a cult, Lady Cousland.”

“Cult or no, the Venatori now has their name tied to the former rebel mages and the Wardens. As such, they have cemented themselves as a legitimate force and not merely a fanatical one.” She frowned as she stared into the flames of the campfire. “The more the world ignores their threat and that of Corypheus, the more the Venatori can simply do as they please, unopposed.”

“The future we saw in Redcliffe has already veered off course due to our efforts,” he spoke up then. “We’ve denied Corypheus the mage army he planned to take, thereby delaying his plans significantly.” 

“Delaying isn't the same as stopping him outright,” she sighed. “In any case, I already had Harding send word back to Skyhold about our impending return. Once we recuperate and make the necessary preparations, we’ll make our move on Adamant." Cousland glanced down at the still nearly full mug of tea in her hands—likely cold now from how long she had simply held it. He frowned when she merely tossed the contents of it to the ground before proceeding to walk back toward her tent. “Rest when you can. We move at dawn.”

* * *

The War Room was more crowded than it had ever been in recent memory, for it was rare that Niamh had the entirety of her War Council and inner circle with her like this. It was necessary, however, especially as she looked at the placement markers situated on a topographical graph of Adamant Fortress along with much older schematics detailing the building’s architecture and interior layout—all courtesy of Leliana’s agents. It was imposing certainly, especially given that it had been built specifically as an outpost against the darkspawn since the Second Blight. However, it also meant that the walls themselves likely weren’t invulnerable against modern siege equipment.

“It was good that you sent word of what happened in the Western Approach so quickly, my lady,” Lady Montilyet said as she made a note on her parchment board. “I was able to get in contact with Lady Seryl of Jader, and she was pleased to lend the Inquisition her sappers along with the trebuchets we can use with the assault.”

“Good. Please ensure they’ll be meeting us at the rendezvous location rather than approaching the fortress ahead of us. As I intentionally let him escape, Erimond will expect us to march upon Adamant at some point, and I fear Lady Seryl’s men will be overrun without Inquisition support.”

“Of course. I’ll send along word after this meeting.”

Leliana thumbed through a few papers in her hands. “Of the reports I’ve received from my reconnaissance teams, there’s been no sign of Corypheus or his dragon since we’ve been made aware of the Grey Wardens’ location.”

“Adamant was constructed right at the edge of the Abyssal Rift, wasn’t it?” Cullen asked curiously. “Darkspawn have escaped through it before. Couldn’t the Archdemon also be hiding down there, biding its time until it’s ready to move against us?”

“Possibly, but we’ve yet to confirm if that’s what Corypheus' dragon actually is.” Niamh shared a glance with Leliana before continuing. “Archdemons depend on a hive mind to guide darkspawn into doing their bidding, but other than the scattered groups we’ve encountered along the Western Approach, there’s been nothing of significant note. As Archdemons often signal the return of a Blight, we’d likely have seen more of a darkspawn presence by now. Corypheus isn’t one to waste resources if it might progress his ambitions after all. Granted, his dragon is…” She paused, thinking more upon the creature. “…different compared to the other lyrium-infected ones I’ve slain before, but I’ve yet to determine in what way. From my encounter with it in Haven, it’s certainly a great deal more powerful if nothing else.”

“That’s not to say Corypheus or his pet won’t make their appearance eventually, of course,” Leliana said then. “While Wardens continue to arrive at the fortress, the frequency of such events is dwindling. If a move is to be made by our enemy, it likely won’t be long now.”

Niamh nodded although she couldn’t help some measure of shame from seeping into her words as she spoke. “All this time, I had assumed Corypheus had been using the rifts spawned by the Breach to gather his demon army, but what we saw out in the Western Approach has changed things significantly. We now know why he wanted the Wardens for himself. As such…” She turned to one of her inner circle. “Blackwall, for the time being, I must ask that you remain behind in this. I fear I’d be putting you in more danger so close to your brethren and Corypheus’ influence.”

The Warden opened his mouth as if to argue, but he clenched his jaw before nodding reluctantly. “It’s likely the wiser decision, my lady. I understand.”

“Seeker, would you be willing to accompany me in his stead along with Dorian and Cole?”

The other woman dipped her head respectfully. “Of course, Lady Cousland. It would be my honor as always.”

Niamh then turned to the respective heads of her military forces to go over the tactical details of the assault one final time. She had spent the past fortnight in Skyhold going over every possible scenario their forces might encounter upon reaching Adamant and getting beyond its walls. She wasn’t certain she could call it perfect, but given the time restraint, it was as fine-tuned as she could have hoped for. 

“Thanks to the construction plans Leliana’s agents have found for the fortress, our people should now be more than aware of the various choke points—” She placed several map markers at strategic locations along the map. “—we can utilize to limit the field of battle in our favor even with the demons the Wardens likely already have. I want a steady stream of magic, arrows, and trebuchet fire aimed at the battlements once we arrive in order to clear the way for our battering ram. The most capable of Enchanter Ellendra’s mages will be providing barriers to protect the men and women operating it. 

“Once we clear the gate, our Commanders’ combined vanguard force will enter first, as they have the most experience with shock tactics. They’ll be able to suppress and subdue the Warden mages within in order to limit the number of demons we might encounter.” Fighting in enclosed quarters was dangerous enough for the most seasoned of their soldiers even without such creatures milling about. Niamh pulled one of the schematics over, which detailed the designs of the battlements and how to best approach them. 

“Half of the initial strike team will then make their way up to the walls to continue their work from there while the remaining members will be advancing deeper into the fortress along with my party.” She looked up at Lysette and Ellendra. “At that point, our main military force will fall in from behind to support the Knight-Enchanters and Templars along the battlements. Between the trebuchets and our archers, the Wardens along the walls will have enough to deal with, but it’s imperative we have them cleared if we're to get our people up the ladders. Understood?” Both women nodded solemnly, and Niamh turned to Stroud and Hawke then.

“You both will likely be the first on those ladders aside from our veterans to lead the attack there,” she announced, but the other woman merely grinned with familiar, reckless abandon.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Can you both also provide assistance for our people until you’re ready to rendezvous with my team and confront Warden-Commander Clarel?”

Stroud nodded. “It will be done, Your Grace.”

“Excellent. The rest of our mages and soldiers will bring up the rear to deal with any stragglers within the fortress, but do ensure that last group doesn’t break formation. They balance each other’s strengths as much as their weaknesses, but it’s only as effective if they’re working together.”

“My lady, I discussed the matter briefly with Ser Stroud, but it’s possible some of the Wardens may be sympathetic to our cause,” Lady Montilyet said then, causing Leliana to interject gently. 

“I doubt the warriors and rogues would turn against Clarel directly. Even _should_ they ally with us, they’ll be hard-pressed if their former mage colleagues manage to get ahold of them. They risk inadvertently replenishing the demon army.”

Niamh was of similar mind on the matter, but she spared Stroud a quick glance. “If they are willing to listen to reason, it’s better to separate them from the area Clarel might be in, as I imagine she’ll have most of the mages with her along with Erimond. To make matters worse, we also don’t know what part Corypheus or his dragon will play in this battle—if any at all—but I’d rather err on the side of caution. See if the Wardens would at least be willing to whittle down the bulk of the demon army for our own forces. Other than that, I must stress that you all don’t overextend your position any more than necessary. There are enough hidden nooks within the fortress that the enemy could still take anyone by surprise regardless of our own numbers. We certainly don’t need to add more to theirs.”

She received several nods of understanding around the room, which she returned with her own. Still, Niamh couldn’t resist the nagging sensation at the back of her mind, wondering if the plan couldn’t be further improved upon, even as she was aware that she had spent the better part of a fortnight preparing it. She had accounted for as many variables as possible to reduce the number of casualties on their end, but it was the thought of having so many willing to die for her that left her distinctly uneasy. She looked to the newest members of her War Council.

“Lieutenant-Commander Lysette and Enchanter Ellendra, our forces have come a long way since the fall of Haven. You’ve shown me they’ve learned how to fight together in a unified front. However…” she trailed off reluctantly. “Please do remind them they’ve a choice in joining the battle ahead. If they feel they’re not yet ready for all that entails, allow them to remain behind without consequence,” she said, drawing a look of confusion from Lysette.

“With all due respect, my lady, our people know the risks involved. They know what they’re fighting for.”

Perhaps better understanding Niamh’s request, however, Ellendra placed a hand over the warrior’s armored forearm, stilling the woman immediately. Ellendra had already felt firsthand the consequences of putting the needs of the many before the few after all along with sacrificing life and happiness to see it through.

Niamh didn’t know what had become of their relationship, given that she had been out in the Western Approach for nearly a month. Whether it was still one of pure professionalism or the tentative steps of something new couldn’t be readily said, but as Lysette looked down at her counterpart in flustered bewilderment, it was apparent the Lieutenant-Commander still didn’t know quite what to do around her.

“Before the fall of the Circles, it wasn’t unusual for mages to be conscripted into various battles without our say-so on the matter,” Ellendra explained. “The Inquisition in comparison has always been made up of volunteers, and I believe Lady Cousland simply wanted to emphasize that point—that no matter how far our goals take us, the option to leave if needed is always there.” 

Niamh nodded gently. “I will never ask the people who serve under us to do what I will not nor would I ever ask them to give more than they are able. Our people aren’t battle fodder with which to set a foundation toward victory.” The very idea filled her with utter distaste. “I want Corypheus defeated as much as anyone present within this room, but understand that I never want it to be at the cost of lowering myself to the levels of his selfish whims. For as much faith as they’ve given us, our people deserve far better.”

“As you say, my lady,” Ellendra said.

Lysette’s own expression was contrite even as she nodded in agreement. “Of course, Your Grace. I meant no disrespect.”

“And you’ve given none, truly. If anything, I was remiss in not having said it before now. Again, simply remind them of the option. What they choose to do with that information is entirely up to them,” she said before looking to her inner circle. “The rest of you will remain here. With the bulk of our forces heading to Adamant Fortress, I don’t want to risk Skyhold becoming a vulnerable target in our absence, but I trust in all of your respective abilities to defend this place. Understood?”

Several affirmations met her words. 

“Good. We move at first light.”

* * *

The following morning was one filled with the bustle of moving bodies and clanking armor as they filed out onto the stone walkway of the bridge to begin their trek toward Adamant. Niamh was one of the last to leave although that hadn’t been entirely by design, especially as desperate whining filled the air.

“You’re certain you’d still like to watch him?” her friend asked worriedly even as she gently fended off Bain, who repeatedly kept jumping up toward her, begging her not to go. Leliana couldn’t help but feel some pity for him; Niamh had been gone longer than she’d ever been present at Skyhold for his puppyhood—a fact the other woman had admitted with regret. She had no doubt she would’ve liked to have basked in the glow of these formative months with him, but the world waited for no one—not even for a woman as kind and deserving of peace as Niamh. “Kennel Master Roric has mentioned that he’d more than happy to house him with the rest of his siblings if you’re ever too busy with your work.”

Leliana gently waved her hand. “It’s quite alright. He’s been rather good at keeping me company. Besides—” Her lips lifted up into smile. “—I think he’s picked up on one of your tendencies.”

Wintry-grey eyes blinked—so pale even within the pre-morning light—as Niamh canted her head in confusion, causing Leliana to smile even wider at how much the sight reminded her of Bain’s inquisitive gestures. “Oh? And what might that be?”

“He doesn’t like being caged if given the opportunity to roam free. I suppose he has a wanderer’s heart like you.”

“Ah. I see.” The other woman chuckled even as she knelt down, and the mabari paused briefly in his frantic energy even as he reached out to place a white-furred paw on her shoulder, whining loudly for her to stay. “I know, Bain,” Niamh murmured, gently rubbing his ears before leaning forward to press a kiss between his brows. “I’m sorry. Be a good boy for me, okay?”

Niamh stood and then slowly walked backwards toward her stallion, who had been waiting patiently for her. As expected, Bain made to try to follow her again, but the other woman raised her voice briefly in command.

“Stay.”

The mabari whined, caught half-way between sitting down and getting up to follow his mistress, but another command decided his actions for him.

“Sit.”

He reluctantly sat at Leliana’s side then even as she could see the sadness in Niamh’s eyes, knowing that she had to leave him behind again. 

“Good boy,” Niamh praised gently before climbing into Tiernan’s saddle. She gently gathered the reins in her hands even as she turned to look at her with a tired smile. Her friend was more exhausted these days more often than not, she realized. Their troubles seemed to have little end, and her chance at rest seemed to come farther and fewer in between every time. Even so, Niamh was ever thoughtful and polite. “Thank you,” she said, causing Leliana to arch her brows curiously.

“Why are you thanking me?”

“Because I don’t know when I’ll get the chance to do so again.”

And for a moment, Leliana’s heart stopped.

She just barely stopped the gasp from escaping her lips as those words began rattling deafeningly inside her ears. What had been the cause for them? Had she missed something? Did Niamh have knowledge about the battle ahead that she didn’t? As she mentally filed through the various reports she had received regarding the status around Adamant for answer, she wondered if this was a sign of things to come—a portent of the future.

But then the other woman simply shrugged, and the tension of the moment—or had she simply imagined it?—was gone as a sheepish expression slowly washed over Niamh’s features. 

“But mostly because I don’t think I say it enough to you despite the fact that you work as hard as—if not harder than—anyone else I’ve seen in the Inquisition. So…” She dipped her head in appreciation and respect, smiling. “Thank you, Leliana.”

Although it took several moments—nothing that she shared outwardly in her own expression—Leliana’s heart soon settled back into its normal lull. She shook her head then, inwardly chiding her friend for the brief worry. “Likewise,” she answered with a smile. “Safe travels to you, Niamh.”

With a nod, Niamh directed her stallion into a canter toward Skyhold’s gate, and as she heard Bain whining softly, Leliana knelt down to pet him, offering the mabari comfort as they quietly watched her go. A shout of the woman’s name had Leliana turning her gaze in the direction of the lower steps near the main hall, and she recognized Bethany’s form running toward Niamh despite the early hour. The other woman had something red and soft in her hands—a scarf?—that she offered up to her, expression filled with worry. Niamh, however, merely smiled in reassurance—warmth in the very gesture—before taking the gift in her hands.

As Leliana watched the two women, she couldn’t help but shake her head in amusement, especially as she took note of Bethany’s raven hair and golden-brown eyes. _You really do have a type, don’t you?_

But then Niamh was on her way again, and with her departure, quiet drifted across the courtyard again, for Bain had simply laid down on his stomach to rest his head atop his paws. His ears drooped with utter dejection, and Leliana sighed, continuing to pet him reassuringly.

“She’ll be fine,” she said even as Niamh’s words continued to drift across the surface of her mind. 

_“Because I don’t know when I’ll get the chance to do so again.”_

“She’ll be fine…” Leliana repeated, but she didn't know if she was still trying to convince him or herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With the exception of Baron Plucky, all the raven names are of my own creation. Lol. I thought they were suitable for Disney Princess Leliana. ;P
> 
> Managed to make it time for an end of the month update! Sorry it took so long, but I hope you enjoy this 53-page upload! I was trying my best to get the pacing down for this chapter, and while I'm not quite satisfied with it, I wanted it done. I'll finally be diving into Here Lies the Abyss material next chapter, and that's... quite the emotional ride if I'm being completely honest. :P Lol. 
> 
> Also, if you're not already following me on Tumblr or Discord, you probably missed out on a bunch of scenes I wrote regarding this story or the AUs I have for Niamh/Leliana:
> 
> 1.) [A future scene from OtSttCA](https://morganaseren.tumblr.com/post/640315069812670464/62-its-only-one-night-well-just-share-the)
> 
> 2.) [A Scene from my Werewolf/Vampire AU](https://morganaseren.tumblr.com/post/640396083852345344/tell-me-to-go-and-i-will-but-if-you-ask-me-to)
> 
> 3.) [A scene from my Arranged Marriage AU](https://morganaseren.tumblr.com/post/639886468751540224/a-scene-from-the-arranged-marriage-au)
> 
> 4.) [Another Goddess AU](https://morganaseren.tumblr.com/post/640954938950828032)
> 
> 5.) [The Mage Collective AU ](https://morganaseren.tumblr.com/post/640959724033064960)
> 
> 6.) [The Tranquil AU](https://morganaseren.tumblr.com/post/641316720871604224)
> 
> Thanks as always for your patience! I was genuinely shocked when I saw I had over 500 kudos to this story along with over 9000 views! That's amazing! I'd never thought I'd get here, but thank you for all the support! It means more to me than you'll ever know!


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